


Deafening Silences

by ColiOli



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming Out, M/M, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColiOli/pseuds/ColiOli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone saw him as the spoiled rich kid; sitting with an inheritance in his future, easy access to a business, and a free tuition. And that's one of the examples that Daryl can think of now, of how not everything is as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all :)  
> I've got this idea that won't leave me alone. So much that I have a need to work on this hours a day. 
> 
> I am only putting a fraction of what I have written down so I can get a feel for what you guys think of it. 
> 
> Obviously there are some huge differences between the canon universe and this AU. You'll gather as you go that even though some big details have changed, the same internal-conflict issues are all still there.

Nothing was ever as it seemed. 

His eyes are narrowed. He mindlessly twists between his fingers the wooden stick containing the avenue between his intellect and shared thoughts. _'Write about the idea: Not everything is as it seems'. Reference to the poems from the weekly syllabus for each example given. At the end, use your own personal experience to explain in your own words, how not everything is as it seems.'_

The assignment before him was daunting. The concept pulled from his discrete mind, to question his belief system and integrate it with a series of poetry from the text book. Putting words onto the page came as no challenge to Daryl. If there was one thing in his life that he could grasp without a doubt and excel at –it was writing. Writing was a hidden talent of his that few knew of. The type of writing he excelled at was mostly expository, analytical, or persuasive. Ideas and arguments could be birthed from lead without trying. When the pencil touched his sensitive fingertips at the end of a day, he could make sense of thousands of issues and integrate them onto the pages. It was when he was far from his writing space during the day, only then, things became confusing. 

As this thought crossed his mind, the receipt for a full years tuition at the University catches his attention. It had purposely been pinned on the cork board to serve as a cloud over his head, looming above each time he sat at his desk at night to work on assignments. 

_His father removes an abandoned white thumbtack and uses it to stick the pink paper to the board. It's covered in years of evidence of it's use where little pin holes are splayed about. He stands upright, as if proud of his handy-work. His son adverts his dark gaze -the kind that demands a reaction. His voice is dark and to the point. “This here, Daryl, is a reminder that while I pay your tuition, your grades belong to me. You wouldn't be here, if it weren't for me. You'll thank me, one day.”_

Daryl had come from a background that from early on, made him question the system in which he'd been brought up in. His mom died when he was a child, leaving him, his drunken, work-addicted father and an anti-society brother to cope with one another. He grew up learning to sleep with pillows atop his head to drown out the sound his father fucking office assistants. He grew up able to detect the scent of liquor on another man's breath like a sharp burn to the pit of his nose. And whether that be on Merle's or his dad's breath, he knew to take off for the woods to escape any sort of trouble in which he could possibly avoid. Not even he could escape that fate –binge drinking on a daily. One big fucking pattern. The only thing to pull him from his ascribed future was being sent to college where he found a focus and was able to put his mind towards the future. 

And here he sat now, at University, where he was to follow in the footsteps of his dad and get his 4 year degree in business. Merle had flunked out of college only to work at the factory. He'd told his father to fuck-off when he was told he wouldn't inherit the business without a business degree. Daryl's father, pissed and irate that his first born couldn't hold the family wealth in his own name was determined to keep his business within the name. Their business had been growing, and he was far too cautious to let an outsider in, (in which he couldn't fathom having any sort of control over). It was then, the dark eyes of his were set on Daryl. Daryl was offered a full-ride to the college if, and only if, he perused to continue the family business.

In the small town he came from there weren't many jobs. Generally most students graduated and immediately began in the family farm or small business unless they moved elsewhere. Left feeling pressed against a wall without a decision or a dime to his own name, Daryl agreed to the only thing that could put him through school. Otherwise, there was always the factory. 

Yet, he sits here now, in his own dormitory with the communications and statistics books to the side, and instead places his writing assignment forth-front. Most students chose electives such as art, sports, or 'easy-A' classes. Daryl chose English. 

His English Professor had been one of the most admirable teachers Daryl had come across. Instead of learning strictly what the school system had taught him his whole life, the class was instead pushed to think otherwise of the materials. Poems were re-born, and literature became rich with substance rather than consuming the reader with hidden meaning. Professor Grimes began to show the bigger picture instead of handing out magnifying glasses and instruct students to search between the diction of a prose. 

The first day of class, he'd felt the sweat glisten in his palms as he came to terms that this –writing, was his passion. Anyone would think of him nothing but the wealthy redneck from a small town -only going through school because of his drunken father's greed. Truth. His father was greedy, and a drunk –probably one of the worst. And with the dry gin came the blunt connection to a fist. 

But he'd been out of that tomb for over a year now since attending college and living on campus. Though the memories of it all were still fresh in his mind like the nip of cold when one thinks of snow. Or like the burn Daryl had received when their house had caught on fire, and he tried to go inside for his mom. To this day, when he thought on it hard enough, it still burned like the day it was birthed on his arm.

That in fact, was something not even Merle knew of even though they spent countless hours together before adulthood. He essentially knew little of his own brother Daryl other than what Daryl portrayed for him to see. Such as when Merle had been off to college, their fathers new anger-management focus had turned to Daryl. No one knew of the scars he carried, defining the times that not even he as a young teenager could fend off a drunken man. Everyone saw him as the spoiled rich kid, sitting with an inheritance in his future, easy access to a business, and a free tuition. And that's one of the examples, that Daryl can think of now, of how not everything is as it seems.


	2. Chapter 2

As the incisive tip of an elongated arrow points near the hour mark on an oak 12-hour clock, students begin to edge with an inner turmoil saturated with the thought of their two days of freedom. After a long week combined with the last class of the day, it causes a classroom to buzz with energy of anticipation. His lecture comes to halt as he finds himself standing before a room containing sets of anxious eyes upon him, as if pleading him to release them from the invisible bonds restraining their slack forms to individual chairs. With amusement at the forefront of his mind, he gives into the desire of those before him with a gesture to the air as if signing defeat. 

“Dismissed.” 

Like the swarm of bees leaving the hive as if a bear tried to take their gold, the response is immediate. Bags take their places on backs while papers are carelessly scooped up and clutched to chests. 

“Thank you Mr. Grimes.” 

“Have a good weekend Mr. Grimes.” 

With his hands slipped inside his slack's front pockets and a smirk pasted across his features, he nods at each of the students who part ways all while searching for one in particular. Daryl is still at his desk --passively waiting for the swarm to leave all while checking his phone before the room is clear. As he stands upright, he swings the heavy backpack at ease over one arm. 

Firm, but at ease to not startle him, hand is placed in front of the Daryl just before the doorway. “Daryl, I'd like to have a word with you.” 

Regardless of the confusion for being stopped, he nods and walks to the front desk where Mr. Grimes leads him. Mr. Grimes pauses several times while collecting items of his own and organizing them back onto the desk. “Sorry, give me a moment.”

Daryl's thoughts are as rapid as a dart flung over and over at the target, as he tries to calculate the means for a private conversation. Mr. Grimes's expression deflects nothing that sends red-flags of panic to Daryl's immediate thoughts, as those eyes are calm and focused –kind beneath their pale blue surface. 

Mr. Grimes leans over the lecture desk to retrieve an unorganized stack of papers left from the students. He shuffles the mound and then slides hem into a pocket inside an amber brief-case. He doesn't look up from his leather storage case as he says, “I read the papers over this weekend. What you wrote -I admire what you said. Powerful, even.”

He doesn't need to finish speaking for Daryl to know where this was going. Daryl had heard it many times prior from his other English teachers. The infamous, 'I didn't know you had it in you.' No one would think a redneck, such as he, could manage to pull off a worthy paper. 

Daryl shrugs. His eyes are placid despite the compliment. “Wasn' hard. Everything was right there in the poems.” 

“Not only that, but your ending. The personal experience you included was impressive.” Daryl's body reacts with heat growing beneath the thin skin on his cheeks. He hopes his reaction is concealed behind a blank stare, as Mr. Grimes won't look away from his own blazing blue eyes. “I appreciate the effort you put into the paper. Not everyone takes these assignments serious. I do that on purpose; asking students include a personal piece. The idea is to and try and pull from the writer personal details which give each of their works solidity. Yours, out of all, met the criteria.” 

What he wrote in the final part he'd never openly told anyone, -ever. It'd been rumor that Grimes never actually looked into the personal piece at the end of the papers. Daryl had only felt safe writing what he did because he thought it'd be left an unnoticed confession. Putting it on paper felt like one way to get it out at the time, but now he feels an ache and he wishes what he wrote hadn't been read.

“Since the start of quarter, you've yet to express these ideas out loud. No one has, actually.” An adequate amount of time passes, enforcing emphasis to his statement. Daryl feels observed –opened up, even. He can't place why, but there's something in the way Mr. Grimes looks at him that makes him feel exposed –beneath skin and the layer of aggression that hides him from the world. It's as if he's being seen for who he is, for the first time. 

Mr. Grimes becomes lost in thought while his palms –flat and pressed thin, support his weight on the desk as he looks out the windows to the beauty outside. Red and orange illuminates the view just on the other side. A world of turning colors is beyond the wooden shutters which attempt to strain light. Though unsuccessful, because there's light across their bodies, even casting long shadows on the floor. 

Mr. Grimes smirks. Now upright, he turns his focus back on Daryl with his hand at his ashen beard, letting sensitive finger tips glide down the smooth fibers. “You've got a talent and seem to have insight. I'd appreciate it if you were to express your thoughts out loud in class.” 

“I don' think--” A hand is held out to silence him. 

“You've got things to say. What you put on paper makes it clear that you know what you're talking about. You lack the confidence to speak those ideas out loud.” He pauses, his features void of any hostility. “Daryl, you'll do fine.” 

Daryl's jaw tenses, sensing the loss in their discussion. Eventually, he nods, his own eyes locking onto Rick's.

Rick clips his brief-case closed and lets it drop in his hand's clutch next to his leg. “You can trust me on this.” 

 

 

 

It seemed like every Sunday morning, silver beer cans toppled over the tops of over-full recycle bins, causing an overflow of waste onto the damp-morning lawn. The sound is cringing to ones sensitive, hungover ears as custodians tend to the tedious task of filling empty trash bags of the waste. There are hidden puddles of yellow or brown fluid on the ground consisting in an array of textures and consistency. Occasionally, if the dawn arose one early enough, they might witness the limp form of a student being drug back to their dorm by what many consider a good friend. 

Despite the grotesque scene around them, outside was crisp with a chilling air, bringing with it the particular smell of wet leaves. Fog hung just above the brick buildings as if coating the campus in a world of it's own. Fall, like the envious being jealous of winter's soon arrival, left it's dropping across the grounds where it met with the early morning dew --creating a slick surface for students to walk across when they stepped over the decaying leaves. Vomit was the worst of worries, and it was a quick trait for freshman to learn to keep and eye out for it as they grudged their way from dorm to library. Saturday nights left little memory for many, but the evidence remained the next morning.

The weekend came and went faster than majority of students hoped it would, for it was the time they could cherish with friends. Each Sunday morning the campus slowly awoke with stale form of life. 

Even Daryl who tried his best to be a recluse, couldn't separate himself from the weekend festivities. His own roommate, Glenn, saw to it from the beginning of quarter that Daryl wouldn't hide himself in their dorm each evening. The night before they had spent at a party in house just off campus. It was practically early morning when Daryl had pulled Glenn from his girlfriend to escort him safely back home. She had thanked him, because apparently Glenn was past his limit and she couldn't manage carrying him herself.

When Daryl wasn't writing, drinking, or attempting other studies, he was out hunting with Merle. But Merle had been occupied with his over-time so he was left to participate in the weekend activities with those he didn't care to know. It wasn't that making friends was hard for Daryl, but he felt that they could relate only on one thing –beer bongs. It was always the mindless conversations, and he could only tolerate Merle because the time spent with him was consumed by silence in the woods. 

The only person he can really tolerate by choice, is Glenn. 

It only took the first couple weeks to learn that Glenn was actually a target by other students with too much time and not enough empathy for anyone else. Glenn had kept it a secret, and it wasn't until he was on the way to the showers when Daryl witnessed a small group shove Glenn up against the wall when he obviously was trying to avoid any trouble. That'd been the start of their genuine friendship, rather than just getting along for the sake of living together. Glenn had later said that those kids always sought him out since the start of his freshman year. 

He'd never stuck up for himself, and neither had anyone else. 

Daryl had tempted to kick the shit out of them right then and there, and it took Glenn's most convincing argument to stop him. Even though he let them go with a simple threat, they hadn't interfered with Glenn since. 

Daryl knew from a young age that he wasn't someone to tolerate shit from the hands of others his own age. Despite his own defiance, he tried to understand Glenn didn't have the heart to hurt another human. It just wasn't him, where-as Daryl had no issue giving it to someone who deserved it. Which as Daryl felt, was exactly what most people saw of him anyways –him being bold and fearless before allowing the chance to let anyone in and see the uniqueness he kept inside. He had a habit of making enemies before friends, just on the inclination that he was a tough as shit, and difficult to let others in. 

But Glenn had his girlfriend Maggie, and Glenn was determined to let her see his good side so there was no convincing him otherwise. As far as Daryl could tell just from the few times he'd seen them around each other, they were in love. The kind of love that he only heard of, never had the opportunity to witness in real-life. It somehow made him respect Glenn with just the fact alone that he felt so passionately for another being –the kind of feeling he'd yet to experience for himself. 

Their dorm is separated by an empty space between the bunk beds and the two desks on the opposite, with a pale brown carpet between. Glenn takes the bottom bunk, his own area decorated with memoirs of him and Maggie splayed about the wall like a time-line from the moment they'd met all the way to his head where his eyes steal a glance of her beautiful face before sleep. Decoratively, little lanterns with light escaping through their semi-permiable barrier are strung from a wire twisted in a neat knot, draped around the perimeter above his bottom-bunk. At night, when Daryl wakes and finds their room in a faint glow, he knows that Glenn can't sleep because he misses Maggie. His intentions are pure when he stairs at her pictures at night, and Daryl assumes Glenn probably wonders about her and what dreams take space in her mind while in a sleep of her own. 

For being roommates that the college assigned, Glenn and Daryl balanced each other out fairly well. In fact, Daryl even considered asking Glenn to room with him next year since he figured he'd never be so lucky with a random pick again. 

Daryl had procrastinated his statistics homework as the need to finish it held a sort of reluctance deep within him. After an hour of attempting to study the subject, Poe's short stories found their way on-top his cluttered desk. Glenn had stolen himself from their dorm earlier in the day, so Daryl was by no means distracted. Yet, in no time soon he'd felt the desire to complete his reflection paper for English though it wasn't due for another week. In the end, he'd spent several hours on that alone -editing and reshaping the content until perfect, before the note about the statistics exam Monday morning captured his attention. 

Evidently, the receipt on his board served a purpose, for he spent the next five minutes glaring at it, reminding himself that these grades weren't his own. 

Grudgingly, he finishes the work for his least favorite classes, takes a trip to the cafeteria later that evening with Glenn and buys a dry turkey sandwich to eat on their walk back. Shortly after, he is spent in the top portion of their warm bunk-bed by 9. 

 

 

 

Rick Grimes slowly paces in front of the classroom after reading out loud a poem to the class. “Not very long, but “The Red Wheelbarrow” is an incredible prose. Though the reader may be confused by the actual meaning. Can anyone tell me why?”

There's a pause as the class shifts their eyes from empty journals and back to their teacher. Eventually, a softer voice from a female student speaks out. “The reader has no background to connect the symbolism of the wheelbarrow.” 

“Not exactly, but that's steering towards the point I want to make. Anyone else?” 

It doesn't surprise Daryl when those pale-blue eyes find his own. He attempts to advert the unwanted attention by breaking the contact. But those eyes keep glancing back at his own, as if encouraging him to use this chance to open his thoughts to the class. Useless to his own attempts of avoiding this, Daryl anxiously squirms when they hold expectancy in their gaze. Rick's words of encouragement are still fresh in his mind. 

He swallows and finds himself stealing the silence and he doesn't even raise his hand before saying, “There ain' no symbolism. The wheel-barrow is exactly as it is in the poem. The reader is too focused on finding symbolism to understand the actual meaning.” 

Rick is embraced in his own smirk as his eyes light up. He nods to Daryl and turns to the rest of the class. “Thank you, Daryl. You see, the reader is accustom in searching for symbolism. But, the “Red Wheelbarrow” is written about the exact scene witnessed that day. The scenery within the poem uses description of what he saw while looking at exactly what's in the poem. If we read it, just as what it is, we can place ourselves in that very moment. Rich details have this power.” 

The girl who answered Mr. Grime's question earlier raises her hand. “Excuse me, Mr. Grimes, but the symbolism is there. We, the reader, have a distinct key on the red wheelbarrow, 'glazed with rain water'. This could mean like, red for blood and the tears of many, right? I just don't see how the poem is only about a red wheelbarrow.” 

“This is an appropriate statement. But can anyone else elaborate on why the symbolism isn't the point to this poem?”

“The school system has taught that in every poem, we ought ta' look for a hidden meaning through symbolism, rather than jus' read it fer what it is. We're raised ta' think that authors make puzzles. 'Ya gotta jus' let that go.” 

The girl scoffs. “I've never heard that before.”

“Daryl is absolutely correct.” Rick confirms. “In fact, I bet if you read half of your favorite poems without the inclination to find symbolism, you'll discover some rather passionate details.” 

At the end of class, Mr. Grimes hands back their papers with his as-usual annotations left on the side. Daryl discretely opens his paper to the back page, where Mr. Grimes wrote, 'Thank you for the honest confession.' 

Daryl has to swallow the anxiety he feels when he reads over the personal piece he'd included... 

_'Not everything is as it seems. The biggest of all lies I've been able to hide from everyone, even my own family, is that I'm gay. This above all, is how I can indefinitely say that not everything is as it seems.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope to have weekly updates, and those seem to be happening at the end of the week. 
> 
> Without spoiling anything, the next chapter will pick up the pace from here on out. I wanted to split the whole foundation into two chapters rather than just in the chapter 1, because the first ended where I thought it should. I have everything into one document and end chapters as they feel right. So some will be longer than others.
> 
> I should also include that this is 100% un-beta'd, so any and all mistakes are naturally mine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you know? I got this thing popped out before the weekend even started.

Mr. Grimes body is slanted towards his class while pressing his weight against abrupt edge on the front of his desk. Any lasting desire for excitement or creativity has been punctured from his mind since the start of class. “Are there questions about the assignments?”

He purses his lips. 

“You all know if you need to, I'm in my office until late in the evening for questions.” 

Daryl had unintentionally been the last out of the class again. On his way out, Mr. Grimes calls his attention. “Thank you for speaking out again today. I appreciate it when students make an effort.” 

He tries to break the eye contact Rick holds on him. Daryl gives Mr. Grimes a quick nod in 'thanks'.

“You have any problems with the reflection paper?” 

“I already finished the reflection paper, and the paper due later this week.” Then he adds, “Both were fine.” 

There was a look in his teachers expression that Daryl couldn't read. He felt as if his soul was displayed out in the open, and it felt uncomfortable to have the undivided attention on him when he sought to avoid it at all costs. 

“Does this class challenge you?” 

He shrugs the question off abrupter than he'd intended to. 

Mr. Grimes smirks. “Tell you what. The waiting list to get into our writing program is two years, but if you do extra assignments on the side with the same effort you put into this class, then I'll see to it you get in next fall.” 

“I ain' goin' into the writers program.”

His eyes scrunch together in thought. “What degree are you here for?”

Maybe Mr. Grimes expected something lavishing, such as politics, an art degree or philosophy. And the pit in his stomach tightens as he mentally admits that even he feels empty when he says it out loud.“Business.” 

He sighs, and apparently tempts with saying something else. He must have decided it wasn't worth the time, because finally he says instead, “You'll be great at that, Daryl. See you tomorrow.” 

 

__

 

Days had quickly spread into weeks passing and the days seemed to blend from one right into the next. The tops of trees became barren with the absence of leaves, while the bottoms of the branches still clung to the last of evidence that summer had in fact came and passed. In the early dawn there was frost sticking to the windows on cars and the icy residue developed on the ground, isolating shards of grass in a white glaze. 

Life for Daryl had been rather uneventful with time consuming of studies and homework, the cleaning of a neglected dorm and questioning the sanity to eat cafeteria food for another several months straight. The memory of wild turkey and deer was becoming distant on his tongue. He craved “home” (home being the sanctuary he felt within himself when he was out in the woods). 

But the tasteless days were disrupted when he'd least expected them to be. 

It was Halloween night when the peaceful pace changed for Daryl. Like sand lost in his grasp despite how tight he held on, his life seemed to change from that night on whether or not he could hold onto who he wanted to still be. 

There was a meaningless tradition students had made forming of sort of discrete game of “tricking-or-treating” to one norther's dorms. Those who didn't involve themselves were students such as Glenn and Maggie –at a house party not far from the campus playing trivia games and drinking beer, or like Daryl who just tried to enjoy the scent of being out in the open. He preferred not to join them tonight, even though Maggie had invited him out. 

He'd just wanted peace and quiet tonight and chose to walk miles around the perimeter of their small town. 

When he opens the glass door into the dormitory and steps inside, he is welcomed by the prickle of heat against his bitter cheeks. That same feeling soon spreads through the thick layer of his clothes, developing the craving to return to his bed and fall in a deep sleep before Glenn would return. The steps up to their top floor dorm ache his fatigued legs, and evidently he feels relief knowing his bed isn't too far ahead. Removing his key from his denim pockets, he uses it to fumble with the doorknob. When he realizes that it's unlocked, even though he distinctly recalls locking it hours before, it causes a reaction in him that coincides with his ability to be prepared for defending himself. 

Glenn wouldn't bring Maggie back, so his body flares with fight mode. His presence is already given away, so he vigorously throws the door wide open. Their room is dark but even with the absence of artificial light, a lone figure is distinctly given away by the cast of moonlight through the window.

Before he can lunge inside and react on his instinct, all panic is erased from his mind when he recognizes the frame of Glenn. He has his back turned to Daryl as he rummages through their dresser, carelessly tossing Daryl's clean shirts on the floor while looking for his own that are mixed in the same drawer.

“The hell you doin' back already?” He sounds angry, though he doesn't intend to be. His question goes unanswered, and perhaps it was more of a statement of relief than anything. Flicking on a faint-light from the lamp to decease the darkness, Daryl walks into the wide space in the center of the room, kicking lose laundry to a pile expanding in the corner of the room. 

Glenn doesn't respond while ripping his shirt from himself like it's acid, and it's when he throws it to their floor and the mild light catches it just right, the sight of wet blood glints in contrast to the blue base it's on. Daryl is immediately drawn to the drops of dark color and tries to make sense of why they're there. 

Within seconds he puts two and two together, and Daryl reaches out to turn on the main light of their room. He looks at the pile of laundry and there's a rush of concern that comes from deep within when he comprehends the sight of blood on a white towel.  
.  
He's still surveying the towel when he asks, “What the hell happened?”

Glenn pulls a clean shirt over his head and aligns it down his form. Glenn refuses to face Daryl as he stands tense with his back still towards Daryl. 

“What the hell happened?” he repeats, louder this time. 

“Nothing, man. Just let it go.”

“Then ya can at leas turn around and fuckin' look at me.” There's a long pause where it consists of shallow breaths being heard between the two of them. “Fuckin' fine then. I ain' stupid and you don' gotta say anything for me to know what happened!” 

There's a brief moment of silence when neither say anything, debating on what to do next in that circumstance. “Yeah man, ok? They did it!”

His roommate starts taking breaths that distort the shape of his chest as it increases and suddenly shrinks again. He begins to work himself up, and within seconds he immediately starts to grab onto items in-front of him, throwing objects at the wall, sliding text books across Daryl's desk and slamming those to the floor. “God, I'm such a loser!” A black study lamp with a tilted neck is slammed into the wall. The light-bulb bursts into a firework of glass pieces, consuming their room with a pop before the fragments of pale-white glass scatter across Daryl's desk. 

At this point he turns to face Daryl, though his intentions grow meaningless as he refuses to look at his roommate. Daryl can sense the thick buoyancy of shame that comes in waves within his friend. 

He's never been much of someone to give advice. When he'd been beat up countless times during their youth only to have his skin saved by Merle, the only advice his brother could give to him was to grow a pair and fight harder next time. For the first time, he sees someone in front of him –fragile and broken, and they don't have the thick skin that he himself has been constructed with in order to deal with these kind of problems. 

“Nah, you ain' the loser. These fuckin' pieces of shit are. Don't you dare let em' make you feel lower than they are, cause' they ain' nothin' like you!” He wants to go onto to say that for the first time he's made an actual friend that he can trust, and that Glenn is someone he respects, but he can't form the words on the tip of his tongue. There's still a barrier between him and Glenn, and their trust is just barely on the surface. 

Glenn's eyes are locked on the towel which revealed the secret he'd attempted to hide from Daryl. But even he now must know that his plan was meaningless because theirs swelling forming on his features. 

There was so much blood, and Daryl cringes when he connects the amount absorbed in the white towel to the bruises and the protrusions that form on Glenn's face. His eyebrow is split just above his left eye revealing the beginnings of a black bruise like a plump spiders abdomen. His bottom lip is twice it's size, and across his almond skin is a red gash on his cheek-bone. 

“The hell they got against you anyway? You ain' ever done nothin' to em.”

Glenn's face tightens. “It's Maggie.” He catches Daryl's shocked expression. “Yeah, I didn't know until tonight myself why this keeps happening. I didn't know until we were even at this party, and he was there and Maggie said that he, Gareth, hasn't left her alone since high school. And sure enough, I left to go get some beer, and there they are in the parking lot.” He stops as if the memory hurts him as much as the physical pain resides under his skin.

He feels his fists clenching and releasing compulsively. “They at that party now?” 

Glenn shrugs. “I don't know.” Standing in front of their small mirror clipped to the wall, he winces at his own reflection. “I didn't go back because I don't want Maggie to see me this way.” 

“Look, I'll go and I'll tell her you got sick and had to go. I'll check that they ain' there harassin' her.”

He'd left soon after he told Glenn to use the ice in their mini-fridge to reduce the swelling. 

Daryl walks with haste as he sets foot on the soft bed of the grounds damp from recent rain. He knows the quickest route to the house Glenn had been at, and he aims straight for it .Groups of laughing and bantering students are walk past him as they parade back to their own dorms for the night.

He doesn't have to go far when he sees the group of the three men walking directly towards him. They're laughing, pressing against each other in joking jostles of play. The sight infuriates Daryl. When he gets close enough and the lighting is just right, he notices the swelling of knuckles on the hands of the man in the center. He's eyes glint with malice as he says something to his friends and they burst into a fit of hysterics, one of them calling out the name of the man with bruised knuckles -Gareth. 

They are too preoccupied with the burst of laughter and imitating Glenn's reaction to notice Daryl, who has walked directly up to Gareth. Either too drunk or too mixed in with their own cruelty, the group doesn't even get the chance to notice Daryl before Gareth is sharply struck in the jaw. 

At this point, there's a gap between conscious and unawareness. He doesn't recall much of in between, except when he comes to, and he feels the searing pain hot like a poker stabbing into the knuckles of his right hand. Sound had been inaudible until now, and when it comes back to his senses he can hear random shouting of shock from people around then. There's a girl shrieking and a man cheering. When he looks down below, he's taken back by the appearance of the group that had made a game of his friend.

He spits on the ground just inches from Gareth who crouches with hands covering a bloody face. He turns on sharp heels to walk away just as a crowd attempts to form around them. It had happened so fast, that only now was there a swarm drawn to the attraction.

The sounds from the crowd start to become distant, and just when he gets beyond the last of people to join the crowd he hears a voice rough like sandpaper in front of him. 

“What the hell was that?” 

His shoulder grazes Mr. Grime's as he intentionally pushes past him, though careful to not let his bloody hand brush against his professor. 

It surprises him when Mr. Grimes trails after him instead of going to the group to attend the hurt. 

Daryl keeps walking despite the footsteps just behind him. He's angry, and the last thing he needs is to hear something from his writing teacher such as a disquisition.

“This is how you deal with things? Out there startin' fights with those kids?”

“Not jus' some fight.”

“Then what the hell was it?”

There's a pull on his right shoulder where Mr. Grimes fingers dig into the firmness of his shoulder and keep place. He ignores the urge to brush the grip from him, and looks into the eyes of his teacher. Those pale-blue eyes that were once calm, are now replaced with something between rage and vexation. 

“Those pieces of shit went after my roommate. No one's done anything when the three of em' were beating the shit of out him! I had enough of seein' him gettin' hurt by people who hurt others for no fuckin' reason.” 

“You know that ain't the way to do it!”

Rick Grimes is yelling now. His voice is lost somewhere beyond the trees that loom over them in the middle of the grounds, where the shadows of the trees are developed in long lengths from the street-lights in the distance. 

Daryl can't stand to see him angry. He tries to look anywhere else, in attempt to ignore the way Mr. Grimes acknowledges him now. His actions are going to have consequences, and there is nothing he could do to avoid them now. 

“Look at me Daryl.” He speak softer this time, though his voice is laced with firmness. Daryl wants to advert eye-contact, but when the grip on his shoulder tightens, he fights the unrelenting to look away. “You need to control your anger. Do you know that you could be expelled?” 

“Then jus' fuckin' call security already!” 

“Nah, I ain't gonna do that.” He removes his hand from Daryl and stands back, placing both his hands on his hips. A long stretch of time laced in tension passes before Rick speaks again. Those blazing blue eyes look right into Daryl's. “Instead, you're going to write those assignments for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's lovely comments last chapter! You guys all made me so happy!
> 
> Oh, and I've just recently become infatuated with this thing:  
> justswimwiththewhales.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: This chapter indicates memories of child abuse.

Since Daryl had moved away from his father's house where the violence had never been able to escape him, he'd lived a relatively simple life on campus. Despite being able to put horrible memories in his past, the scars on his body were the physical reminder he could never hide from. As he'd undress in the showers, he'd do so late at night so that not he, nor anyone else could focus on them. 

Things were easier this way –when he pretended nothing had ever happened to him. 

As much as he reluctantly attempted to recall what he'd done to Gareth and the other two, he could only remember brief moments of the encounter. He'd blacked out because of his anger, or adrenaline. What began as an intention to get a few good punches in, turned into a scene that was beyond his control. He cared little for those people. But regardless, he'd lost control over himself, and the ugly side –his father's side, came out. He'd known this automatically when he came to and saw the blood seeping through Gareth's fingers as that hand held his face, while the other pleaded Daryl to stop. 

There was a vulgar taste to someone like Gareth. More than anything though, there was something helpless in the way he pleaded for Daryl to stop –begging him to end the pain he'd been unconsciously inflicting. That alone haunted Daryl and his dreams the following weekend. 

Except in his dreams, Gareth was himself. And he was a drunken vision of his dad. 

He couldn't float above the sinking realization that felt as deep as the ocean, that he was just like his father. It was drowning him. 

His only fortune was when he didn't have to re-tell the story to Glenn. Glenn wasn't stupid. He'd seen the marks on the back of Daryl's hands that night. Perhaps he was trying to forget the situation himself, so he'd let the whole thing go. Which was if anything, best, because Daryl just wanted to forget his own episode of violence. He didn't regret it exactly. They flat out deserved to feel the pain they inflicted on others, upon themselves for a change. But harming those men planted a seed in his mind that he'd long thought had been plucked from his brain. And when that seed would begin to sprout, as it always did when fed, he'd recall the memories of his childhood that he so diligently worked to forget. 

He'd planted that seed himself this time. 

When he enters the English classroom Monday, he avoids Mr. Grime's gaze as he walks to his desk and sits down placing his journal and books flat on the desk. There's a moan of gossip as students look at him. He hears mention of what he'd done. Apparently the school works as a newsfeed, because they all have their own translated ideas of what happened that night. Some students look at him in fear, while others refuse to look at him at all. 

He glares at the people who do, and they soon turn away. He can be mean as shit when he needs, and nobody is willing to test that. As soon as Mr. Grimes begins his lecture, attention is taken away from him as everyone's pencils scratch lecture notes into their journals. But his words are essentially meaningless, because nothing Mr. Grimes says makes a connection to Daryl. 

They hadn't spoken since that night after Mr. Grime had walked him up to his dorm and left one last pressing message. He'd been furious towards the student. But upon stopping at Daryl's door, he took a breath of relief from the events and then said, “You're better than that, Daryl.” 

Mr. Grimes didn't know he could never believe such a thing, even though his last words resonated somewhere deep within the student. 

During class, while students turn to their neighbor to collaborate on the in-class assignment, Daryl avoids talking with anyone. His writing hand is sensitive -fingers and knuckles are swollen and bruised. Regardless, he presses the pen to paper and writes. Half-way during class, his notebook page is covered by a shadow blocking the sunlight from his desk. He doesn't need to look to know who is standing above him. 

“Stay after class.” Before Mr. Grimes walks by, he places a hand on Daryl's shoulder –the same one he'd grabbed onto the other night. 

Class is released before students can finish the work, but there isn't a word of protest as people leave the room. Everyone except Daryl, who reluctantly stayed where he was seated. Mr. Grimes is rubbing his peppered beard as he approaches his student. The class is once again a skeleton minus the two bodies that remain. Each footstep Grimes places on the hardwood floor hits Daryl sharp in his ears. The teacher leans against on the top of the desk in font of Daryl, guiding one of his legs onto the seat so he can prop himself forward and rest his elbow on his knee.

There's a long pause of silence where Daryl pretends to find something occupying on the page of an empty journal. Maybe Mr. Grimes was giving him the chance to speak first –make his defense without needing pressing. 

“How's your hand?” Daryl flexes his hand before placing it out of Mr. Grime's sight. 

“'S fine.” 

Mr. Grimes nods. He lets his gaze drop. “I've been doing some thinking since that night. I can understand why the need to protect your friend was important. Friends are... they're life-changing.” He stops, his thoughts someplace else, before he speaks again. “What you did, was understandable in the situation. But, I don't agree that is how you should handle your emotions.”

He rests his thoughts and sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose within the break. “You said no to the writers program. What you do with your life is your own decision, so the reason you are choosing another degree when you're talented is not my concern. But, I can't let your actions go without consequence. What you did could of killed one of those men.”

He tenses when the thought of Gareth is forth front in his mind. 

“You will write for me anyways. Your first assignment is going to coincide with what happened. I considered it over the weekend, and I feel this may better help you understand your own self. You will write four pages discussing your actions. How many bullies have you hurt before? How many people? Why?” 

There's a question that unexpectedly comes to Daryl's thoughts, and before he considers the appropriateness of opening his mouth, he does so anyways, “What were you doin' here so late?”

“Excuse me?”

Before Mr. Grimes says anything else, Daryl stands to leave as he gathers his things and walks past Mr. Grimes. “Nevermin'.” 

“You'll have it into me by the end of this week.” He stands upright, looming behind his students back. “You owe me right now. I trust that you'll do as I say until the end of quarter.” 

 

**

“What do you think man, if the whole world just went to shit?” _Thump...thump...thump._

“Bounce that ball off the wall one more time I'll shove it up yer' ass.” 

Glenn sighs. “First thing I'd do is get Maggie. Then her family, and my family in Michigan.” 

He presses his pencil to the paper as he collects his thoughts on the assignment Grimes had asked him to complete. It's not even dinner yet, and Glenn is still in their dorm. By now he'd be studying with Maggie, but apparently he'd told her he was still sick with some stomach virus. Daryl had called his bullshit and mentioned something about facing his problems. But Glenn was still here, so that spoke for itself how far his advice went. 

“I don't know where we'd go. It's too cold in Michigan during the winter. Maggie says her father has a lot of land not far from here.. I bet we could like, eat the cows he has for food.” 

Grimes had asked 'How many bullies have you hurt in the past?' 4... now counting the 3 over the weekend. First bully he'd ever done somethin' to had been the first person he'd ever hurt intentionally. Little shit walked behind him every day after school, throwing pebbles and rocks at anything and everything. Daryl had admittedly bad for him, because his own old man had been rough on him when he drank too. It wasn't a secret -and no one did anything about it. But the kid had taken it too far when they were 12, and saw a dog tied up on some rope attached to cinder blocks. Daryl didn't even go easy on him, until the kid started crying towards the final blow he took. Daryl hadn't quite felt his gut quench in such a way as it did when he bawled even as Daryl walked away, saying somethin' about his dad being pissed at him for loosing a fight. 

_Thump... thump... thump... thump-_

The tip of the pencil snaps and little pieces of lead litter his half-filled page. 

“The fuck did I tell ya? Give me the damn ball.” Glenn sighs and then tosses it to Daryl who catches it mid-air.

“Sorry man. Just don't have anything to do right now.”

“Do yer homework.”

“Done already.”

'How many people have you hurt?' Merle didn't count. Brother-on-brother fighting was just part of growing up. It was rare he'd ever win anyways. Most of the time Merle had been the one hurting him. But when he'd got strong enough, and Merle drunk enough, the tables turned. He'd never actually try and hurt him though -just knock him down enough times that he was too dizzy to stand. There'd been one fight he'd gotten in right before Merle went to college. They were at bon-fire sharing cans of cheap beer and whiskey until the dawn was almost above them. He heard a girl tell one of Merle's friends she didn't want to sleep with him, and when he actually did the unthinkable and begun to drag her off-

“I just don't know. Do you think Maggie would care?”

His jaw tenses. “I done told you, she don' give a shit what happened long as you weren't the one throwin' the punches.” He sighs, and rubs his face with his left hand that had been spared from injury. 

He's nowhere close to being finished, but if he bullshits the in-between he could fill four pages. He'd have to go into detail about the fights... express his thoughts then and now about them... 

His eyes squint in thought as he writes down the last of the questions. 'Why?' Obviously Grime's doesn't mean why he'd hurt them, but what brought him to using violence as a form of actions on all these people. 

There were many reasons why. And as he starts to hear those reasons faster than he can write. And eventually he stops writing those reasons, because he resists from anyone actually reading them. But those thoughts seep into his sleep later that night anyways. 

He dreams of a dark place. 

_A black room, and he's huddled on his bed. The strip of light under the door warns him of a figure standing outside, and the longer the figure is isolated to that spot, the more he convinces himself he can actually hear shallow breaths just on the other side. He clenches his breath when the knob clicks. He wants to crawl under the frame like he used to as a kid while hiding from monsters. He wants to yell for Merle who is many miles from home... But he's 16 now, and he needs to be a man. Despite the supposed confidence, many cries still escape him when he fights back and somehow his father still wins..._

And he wakes in the darkness of the night. Sheets hold his ankles captive... the rest on the floor below. There's sweat on the small of his back, and the stillness of the night air catches him there. All the way up his back carries a series of memories and he swears that in this moment, he can feel the very pain from that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the support I've been receiving on this! The feedback (in several ways) is inspiring. 
> 
> Last, I have a question. Do you guys prefer chapters about this length (2k words), shorter, more? I could have made this one longer but I wouldn't have posted for another few days. But if longer chapters is more appealing, then I'll do that instead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has fought me more than any other. I've had some horrible cold all week making it that much more challenging. I'm not totally satisfied with it but I'd rather post it so I can move onto the next part which picks up the pace of this story. So here's the thing.

His hand –calloused from ages of wear and tear, reaches out to place the paper into a softer touch. He'd written it overnight as Daryl was aggressively determined to rid the thing from his conscious. 

Mr. Grimes, who is standing in front of the desk, nods with a quick glance at his student before he focuses on reading the material. 

“Stay a moment,” he commands. 

He'd sought Mr. Grimes out in the later afternoon, finding him cooped up in his small office. The sooner Daryl could move on from this mess (and all the thoughts caused because of it) the sooner he'd sleep a restless night. Mr. Grime's office is small –about the size of what Daryl considered a well-decorated jail cell. He's careful to observe the personal area of his professor as he doesn't want to seem too inquisitive but doesn't want to hover at the same time. He settles on scanning the collection of novels and books on a 5-tier shelf next to the doorway. 

On one of the shelves is a picture of a young boy. His features have similarities with Mr. Grimes, but there's a thick layer of another person on his traits. He's dressed in a baseball uniform for some little league event. Over his shoulder rests a bat, and a grin stretched across his face that could probably go for miles if given the freedom to spread. Daryl hears one of the pages of the paper turned over. His eyes drape to the next assortment of books. One is a short series of poetry –classics and modern alike. In another picture above that shelf is a year book propped open –the faded signatures of countless students fill a once blank page, hardly leaving any space between. 

_'I hope you and Shane don't cause the world too much trouble for the rest of us to fix one day! Congratulations on another great year.'_ Another includes the mention of the same name. _'Thanks to you and Shane, I survived Literature 113. See you for Senior year.'_

Mr. Grimes sighs. Daryl turns his shoulder around and registers the paper being handed back at him. “This lacks your potential.” 

“The fuck do ya' mean? It's all in there; the answers to yer questions.” He refuses to take it back, fully turning himself now so they are face to face. After a moment Mr. Grimes sighs again and tosses it on the desk.

“No. I know your writing when you ain't trying to fill it in with fillers.” 

Blue eyes narrow into slits. “How the hell you know? You don't know me.” 

“I know you well enough to know that you got talent. And I know you got emotion.” Grimes directs his index finger at Daryl's chest. “At the bottom of it you feel things. You ain't the kind of person to speak them out loud, but when you write, they're there. And when you wrote this, I can tell you weren't feeling a damn thing! When you told me your sexuality, there was emotion in just those few sentences-”

“Don't talk 'bout that-”

“-Every other damn paper had been filled with senses from you. And I get that maybe you don' want to feel whatever I asked of you. But you can't just expect me to accept something when you haven't even tried. You act like you don't feel these things,” Rick Grimes says, taking a step away and placing his hands on his hips. “But I know you're different.” 

“I ain' no different.”

“The hell if you aren't, Daryl.” Grimes rejects, his eyes lock onto the piercing blue pair starring right back at him. “I ain't sorry I asked this of you. But you need to learn to put your emotions on paper –all of them, and not out there. Because you do that in the real world, then you're just the same as those people who hurt your friend. And I know you're better than that.” 

Daryl scoffs. “The hell you want from me? I didn' ask for this! You act like I'm some special cause -makin me do all this bullshit work. Jus' turn me into security goddamnit! I ain' nothin' worth you waistin' your time over.” The last of his words fade from his lips –but he'd done spoke them and couldn't take them back. His gaze drops to the floor, waiting for the lash of words from the professor he'd just disrespected. 

Rick doesn't react negatively to the outburst like other teachers may have in Daryl's past. He takes a moment to observe the posture in Daryl's frame. He's defiant as a wild fire mixed with wind and heat, but he lacks the hostility that would give him power to destroy forests. Rick nods his head, but focuses an intense gaze right back on his student. Without another word, he takes the paper off the desk and hands it to Daryl. “Look at me.” He waits for the adverting eyes to find his own. “You are someone worth my time.”

Mr. Grimes holds little anger in his expression. The soft brush of baby-blue is there, and Daryl resists the comfort in the way they regard his own eyes. Time seems to dwindle, and both men don't realize how long they've been standing in that office, their defiant eyes locked onto each other. 

Daryl breaks their gaze, shaking his head at Mr. Grimes before snatching the paper and leaving the office without another word. 

**

A mound of trash from his dinner is carelessly stacked on his desk where it sits next to the paper Grimes had given back to him. His Dr. Pepper can leaves a ring of moisture on the desk so when he takes a drink, he uses the length of his sleeve to wipe it away. 

“Isn't that the paper you just brought to him?”

Daryl nods, avoiding further inquiry about the subject by taking a bite from the lasagna. He has the second page opened, where he scans it for the fifth time. It's no use-- and he knows this. He's simply going to have to start fresh and more than likely throw the rejected paper away without regard to the content. 

Glenn leans back on his bottom-bunk and places his silver laptop with a glowing partially-eaten apple on his lap. Within minutes he'd opened up a program where he selects a film to view. 

“You ever seen Reno 9-1-1?” 

Daryl shrugs his shoulders. “Long time ago. Merle and his friends...” He drifts away from the thought as he tries to focus on the paper again. But there's little use. Glenn has the volume up loud and is laughing –snagging Daryl's attention like a fish upon a hook. 

Before long, Daryl places his work in his backpack and swings it over his shoulder.

“Hey man, you don't have to leave. I can use headphones.”

“Nah, it's alrigh'. I need a book from the library anyway.” 

It's in the evening, and the sun has long set. At this time of night the campus is barren, and the walk across the large college causes the cold to nip at anywhere on his body exposed to the elements. He passes the library, purposely walking by it since it was the common place for students to go in the evening. People meant distractions. Besides, he didn't actually need any sort of book. Glenn would have felt guilty, and Daryl was honestly craving getting out of the dorm anyways. Glenn, in small amounts was fine, until there was homework to be done that he couldn't focus on, and Glenn didn't want to leave their dorm in case he ran into Maggie. His face was still swollen and carried the marks from the other night. The worst part about the attack was the shame that took residence over the care-free asian. He'd even went as far as to skip classes today. 

The only other place Daryl could think of that would suit as a study area and a place of quiet was the English building. There were small study areas scattered across the building. Since it was late, Daryl found an isolated over-large stuffed chair facing a bay window. The view was even worthy as it caught the silhouettes of the campus as headlights from cars pass in the distance –a road cutting through the middle of campus like an old pathway that had since been constructed around. 

At least an hour has passed, and Daryl manages to complete a large portion of the paper. The only quarrel he'd found was he missed the hard surface of his desk. The journal against his lap made him angle his wrist oddly, and after an hour it became a tedious task to continue. He doesn't look up from his journal when he hears footsteps come closer upon him. It's only when Mr. Grimes is mere feet away that he speaks.“Never seen you in here this late before.”

He looks up from his journal and probably has resentment etched across his face because Mr. Grimes seems taken back when meeting with his eyes.

Mr. Grimes chuckles. “Yeah, the English building is one of the few best-kept secrets on campus. When it's dawn,” he points out the window, “you can watch the sunrise from this spot. I sometimes will sit where you are now, with a cup of coffee and my notes for the day. That sunrise... it's somethin.” 

Daryl twists his pencil in between his fingers while watching the way Grimes enjoys his own story. “Sounds nice,” he grumbles.

Grimes nods. Daryl notices how he places his hands on his own hips again. “I'm sorry if I came off as an asshole earlier. I wanted to get across the point of your potential. That's all I intended.”

“S' alrigh.” Daryl had lost track of time, but he catches sight of the time on Grimes wrist-watch which says its well past the time they had met hours before. 

“You ever leave this place?” 

Grimes sighs. “Yeah... Just been real busy, working on some papers and lecture notes.”

Daryl nods, stealing himself from Rick to look out the window. 

“I hope you aren't too mad at me.”

“Yer alrigh', nothin' to be sorry 'bout.”

There's an unspoken uneasiness between them, and Daryl can't help but feel that Grimes is trying to rekindle their connection that had taken residence within the several weeks of class. Grimes sighs, and sits on the cushioned footstool Daryl had never thought to use. He places his elbows on his knees and cups his head on his folded knuckles. “My kid, he's been sick lately with some cold thing going around.”

“Yeah?”

Rick nods. “Yeah, him and his mom are all the way down in Atlanta. She's one of them mothers –that if their kid sneezes differently, she's already thinking of taking them to a specialist since doctors are only a stepping stone before them. So since this thing he's got, has been making him cough all night with some sort of 'barking' cough, she's been on my case about taking some time off to get him looked at with her.”

“Sounds like croup.”

“What?”

“Some sort of kids cold virus, called croup. I used to get it all the time when I was a kid.” 

“And you coughed all weird?”

“Yeah. It sucked, but have his mom, or you,” Daryl spares him a glance, “take him outside in the cold air. It works somehow. My older brother used to take me outside in the middle of the night when I was real little and got coughin' bad. He'd wrap me in his blanket and sit out with me on the front porch until I could breathe again.” Daryl shrugs. “He always said my coughin' kept him up at night, and my dad was too busy with business to do it himself.”

Mr. Grimes smirks. “Thanks. I'll tell her to look into that. She uh... she doesn't really want me involved unless its something serious like this. Not that I mind being involved, but I'd rather save my time off for when he really needs it.”

There's a large crowd of students passing through the halls, and both men turn their heads to watch them as they go by. 

“You know, you can always come into my classroom after 4. I'm sometimes in there or in my office. But I can be there to glance at your work sometime this week so you don't have to re-write it for a third time.”

Daryl nods his head, watching his professor as he stands to leave. He places a hand on Daryl's shoulder –still tender from nights ago, before walking away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a little longer than the usual. Originally, I finished 6 early and started 7. It felt like a better idea to post them at once since this story to be a little longer anyways. So to keep myself still at 12 chapters... here ya' go. Hope you all had a good Holiday!

Daryl remained in his chair after the class had been released. Glenn decided to take another sick day, meaning he'd still be in their dorm –avoiding Maggie all evening. Not only did he have the papers for Grimes, but his other work for Communications and Statistics that he fell behind on. Mr. Grime's offer wasn't such a bad idea after-all, because the space on the desk gave him a sense of organization compared to the chair he'd used the night before and the isolation allowed him to concentrate. 

Mr. Grimes gives Daryl a quick tilt of his chin before departing into the little room tucked away on opposite side of the classroom door. His office is led through an oak door that happens to match the rest of the campus's persistently lavishing style. Most of the woodwork is from the early 1920's, when the country was well off enough to build extravagant campus's with wood that almost reflected like a mirror. Nearly a century later, the building still holds its history. From where Daryl sits, he can see a sliver of Mr. Grime's work desk. Occasionally, he'll be distracted by the sleeve Mr. Grime's arm when he reaches out to take a drink from his coffee mug. 

Hours have passed, and Daryl's stomach aches with a longing for food. He closes his journal and looks up when heels smacking the ground grabs his attention. A woman, built with the frame of a twig and hair probably twice her width, walks across the classroom towards Grime's office. She casts a glance at the student; her nose deflects him with a sour distaste in which Daryl impulsively glares at her. He can't help but note the swelling of her pregnancy and the hobble that's taken over a natural gait.

She harshly swings the door to his office open and immediately slams it shut as she carries it with her inside. Before she steps away from the door, Daryl can distinctly make out the sound of irritation laced in hostility as she says, “Do you really think I have the time to come all-”

Daryl decides his stomach is more important than waiting to see how this ordeal turns out. He wastes no time grabbing at the books splayed about the desk in a random assortment. Of course, out of all times he wants to be somewhere else, this is the time his journal falls to the floor and all the loose pages he'd shoved in there scatter across the floor. Her curses out loud when he can hear their voices becoming thicker. He's to the point of grabbing papers in fistfuls, when Mr. Grimes opens the door of his office. There's a distinct moment when Daryl is still crouched on the floor, and Mr. Grimes looks at him with a gaze that holds many thoughts that he doesn't say out loud. She begins to say something again, and Mr. Grimes turns to her.

“Lori, I already told you –call me if it's serious.”

“You think that this isn't-”

He holds out a hand to calm her. “What did the doctor say?”

“Rick you know damn well that they are just stretched on time. He took one look at Carl and said-”

“That'd I'd be fine.” A boy stands in the doorway of the classroom, holding a blue game-boy in his hands. “Mom, I'm fine. Can't we just go home now? Dad's too busy for this.”

“Carl. You were supposed to wait in the car like I told you,” she scolds. 

Daryl's caught between the cross-fire of their family feud, and he can't seem to get everything in his bag fast enough. 

Mr. Grimes looks confused, and in response to what his son said and what he wants to fix, he starts to walk towards the boy as he says, “Carl, you know that I'm not--”

“Just fuck off, dad. Okay?” He bolts from sight. 

“Carl!” The woman sighs, shaking her head as she hobbles after the boy. “This is exactly what I'm talking about Rick –Shane and I can't deal with him acting like this. This attitude of his is your reckoning!”

Mr. Grimes holds a hand to her chest, stopping her from chasing after their son. “Did you tell him that I'm too busy for him?” 

If he'd already thought he had bad timing, it was only about to prove him wrong again. His cell phone picks up a little tune and all eyes turn to him in the room. Daryl clutches his phone and silences the call from his brother Merle before shoving it in his coat pocket. 

Lori turns back to Rick but refuses to look him in the eye. “I don't tell him anything he doesn't already know, Rick.” She slides across his hand and rushes after the boy, leaving the father of her son to comprehend what just happened. 

Daryl just finishes zipping his backpack shut when he finds Grimes in the middle of the section between his office and the doorway, with his hand holding the middle of his eyes in frustration. 

He pauses by the mans side. “Them pregnant hormones are some tough shit.” 

Mr. Grime's sighs at defeat, and his hand drops to his waist.“Yeah, that and teenagers. They are gonna make me crazy, I swear.”

“Congratulations, by the way.”

There's a moment where he hesitates to say it, but he feels grated by the thought of someone thinking that unborn child is a product of his own. “It ain't mine.”

Perhaps there was a proper thing to respond with to that sort of revelation, but if there was, or is, Daryl didn't know it. 

“Sorry that you had to see that. She's been on my case lately. I shouldn't have put it past her to come here.”

Daryl shrugs the comment off.“Ain' so bad. Should see the way my father and brother go at it fer the last beer.”

Mr. Grimes spares Daryl a glance. 

Daryl's just about to leave when Mr. Grimes stops him. “Hey, I'm going to the cafeteria. I won't be here tomorrow evening, so if you want I can look over your paper tonight and get it out of the way.” 

Daryl hesitates at first. He isn't sure how to politely deny an offer like that. And he didn't exactly have anything going on except returning to his dorm –only to have Glenn beg him to go back out and get food for him. And to be frankly honest, Glenn needed to bulk up and learn he couldn't stay in that dorm all the time. 

Softly, he nods. “Sure.” 

Daryl had to wait several minutes for Mr. Grimes to collect the last of his things. The first portion of the walk had been in silence, neither men forced a conversation. The awkwardness of the small argument was still wearing off. There was a firm defiance to the way Rick walked –with shoulders squared back and his eyes straight ahead. He had an ambiance of confidence that came off him, even outside the classroom. 

Small flakes of snow scurry in the air and become lost on the ground as signs of the first big snow approach them. It's not enough to stick on the frozen ground, but it's the first sign of whats to come within weeks. 

At this time of night the cafeteria is relatively deserted, leaving them the choice of several rows of empty tables and chairs to chose from. Daryl, who narrowed his choice down to a bowl of potato soup, gets his food and selects the furthest table in the back of the room which happens to sit next to a large window. Mr. Grimes takes a little more time to get his food, but when he sits across the table from Daryl, he has a roast beef sandwich and steamed vegetables across his tray. 

They sit in silence for the first part of their meals. Mr. Grimes has out his cell phone and skims emails –sorting junk from things to read later. Daryl scans the outdoors, watching the frigid wind blow against the trees. The light snow has stopped for now but the frigid temperatures will persist well into the night. 

When they finish eating, they push their trays aside to the open part of their table. Mr. Grimes glances at Daryl's backpack. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and then sets it on the tray. “Would you like me to read over your paper now?” 

He'd nearly completed it, and to be partially honest, the desire to write it again would be as slim as a single mineral atom at this point. He shrugs, and opens his bag before handing the black journal to his professor. 

While Mr. Grimes has his head bent, Daryl can't help but watch him as he studies the work he'd taken hours to re write. He'd ignored his statistics homework for this, again, and to be honest, he didn't regret the challenge but hesitates to put himself on display for others to examine. Even when Grime's called out his last paper, he still couldn't put himself out there. But he'd emphasized in including emotions on the work. Despite how simple it would be to tell just one person, he still didn't feel like there was anything glorifying when looking at his life. He'd raked through the sand of time, looking for meaning to anything worthy of himself without finding himself being a tool when others were angry. 

He didn't admit the abuse at the hands of his father. He didn't admit the times a whiskey glass had been shattered to their linoleum floor, while his father held the back of his neck and threatened to push him to the ground. He didn't admit the times a belt had lashed against the skin of his back causing the scars... 

But what he did admit, was the times he'd seen violence and couldn't stop it. Like the time when he was 17, and his brother Merle was jumped by a group of other kids his school. And how he'd tried everything to get them to stop, eventually, a 13 year old version of himself, covered his brothers body and tried to take some of the blows. He didn't admit later, how Merle punched him in the jaw for it. He also didn't admit the times that his father beat his brother, and he couldn't stop those times either. 

When Mr. Grimes finishes reading, he looks up from the paper and skims Daryl's features as if reading a past written across his face. 

“What happened to your mother?” He eventually asks. 

“She died in a fire when I was little.” 

He nods sullenly. “I'm sorry to hear.” 

Daryl shrugs. “Jus' keep movin' forward in life's all we can do.”

Grimes sighs, and the paper is left unattended while his fingers rub them. “I wish that were easy to do sometimes.” He looks out the window and his attention wanders across the grounds. “I married my wife when we were 22. Over time, we began to grow apart. The couch was my bed for the last three years. My wife... x-wife... she left me last year for my best friend.” He stops and checks for a negative reaction at his confession. Daryl remains stoic, while checking back for eye-contact to let Rick know he's been listening. “Seems like the days are all absorbed into one. The only thing that's got me going is inspiring people to do what they love.”

Daryl continues to look at him through the window where he can see Grimes face. He subconsciously feels him staring back at him too. 

“You ain' dead yet.” 

Rick turns his head so he's facing him. “Ain't dead yet?”

“You still livin'. Shit's bound to happen to all of us. Some point or another, were all gonna' hit rock bottom. You ain' dead yet; you don't get to quit.” 

Rick sits back in the chair, the cold of the metal presses through his shirt. “You are different than you seem.” When Daryl doesn't inquire what that meant, he goes on. “You seem like someone who doesn't care, but just from what I know... you care a lot. And when you refuse to give more of yourself other than whats on the surface, it's easy to tell that you got a hell of a lot going on underneath. Like your past. And you ain't willing to talk about it, and that's alright. I respect that.” He pauses, his eyes shifting from Daryl to around the room. After a moment his eyes settle back on his student. “I like you, Daryl.”

Daryl smirks. He tempts with the first thing that comes to his mind. “Can't go sayin' things to students like that.”

Daryl tries to conceal a glint of humor, and Rick chuckles. “You know what I mean.” When his smile fades says, “You aren't who you seem. I think you're an incredible writer. Even though I asked you to do this assignment twice –you've given me examples someone who you think can portray you, making this essay into exactly what I asked you to write.” He holds his hands out like he's catching falling snow. “You create art with your writing.” 

“Like stories?” He's not offended as he asks. 

“I know you ain't how you write you are in these papers. Only cause I know you... bits and pieces of you. And I get the inclination that there's a side to you that you don't want to world to see. And I've decided that's fine. I ain't gonna press for something that you ain't ready to give. But, I admire the passion you've put into your work.” He swipes a finger across his mouth and Daryl can't help but continue to keep his eyes on his bottom lip. “You're a great writer. You've put emotion into this last piece. I don't think it's your emotion. You created one though, and that's more than what other students could do if I asked.” 

Daryl swallows, unsure how to go on with what Mr. Grimes told him. 

“Why business?” he asks.

Daryl taps his finger on the table, doting an invisible spot on the surface. His voice is rough like granite when he says, “Ain' exactly my choice Mr. Grimes.” 

“You can call me “Rick”. But only outside of the classroom,” he adds. When Daryl nods, he goes on. “Why do all the work, if it's not what you want?”

“There ain' exactly a lot of jobs out there for someone like me.” He feels compelled to occupy himself and so takes the task of picking at every fingernail. 

“And who is that?”

Daryl shrugs. “Mmhm.”

“Why not try with a writing degree? You've proven yourself already.”

“If I switch degrees, I don' exactly got a way to put myself through school.” He's never been one to talk more than asked, but his statement feels incomplete, so against the bubble he's constructed around himself to keep others distant, he adds, “My dad will pay for a business degree. But nothin' else.” 

“Well Daryl,” He stands up and picks up the tray and Daryl follows suit. “You ain't exactly dead yet.” Mr. Grimes turns and walks away from the table, leaving Daryl with his back to the window as he watches Rick walk away –shoulders set and eyes straight ahead. 

This was exactly the thing he lived for, to write, and somehow Rick knew this of him, and sought to pull him from the intellectually deafening silence that his father insisted to put him in. 

**

That night, there's a tangle of sheets engulfing his feet where he jolts trying to free himself from them. He'd awoken from another nightmare –the same reoccurring one that captives his mind into a horrifying landscape encasing him in memories of blood and pain. He recalls each of his scars in his sleep, and each one inflicts misery on him the same as the day he got them. But in his dream, he felt a hand caress against each of the puffy, grotesque lines –ceasing the pain his brain had created. The hands were neither gentle or rough, but the soothing they provided him was relentless. The finger tips passed from his back, and left little trails of their touch all the way over his neck and on his chest. They creep somewhere lower, and he inadvertently flexes his stomach when they come closer to his mid-section. There's a regret and longing for when the person disappears as he jolts himself awake –the room dark and his shaking probably soon to wake Glenn.

He takes a breath a shaky breath in aiming to calm his still half-between state of dreaming and reality, and settles himself on his back. He stares at the ceiling above and curses himself for the craving he feels from the unknown man in his dream. 

**

The alarm of Glenn's clock echoes against the walls of their dorm. There's a rustling on the bottom bunk, where Glenn eventually emerges from his sheets and slams a palm against the clock. It silences, and he grumbles, throwing himself back into the pillows. 

Minutes pass while Daryl is in the halfway phase of falling back asleep. He is immediately alerted when someone is there is a high-pitched thumping in intervals. Daryl opens his eyes, letting his mind catch up to what his ears pick up. 

The knocking on the door becomes more persistent, and Daryl's just sitting up from bed when he hears, “Glenn? Glenn, I know you're in there. Now you can come out right now and tell me what's going on.” She knocks again. “Glenn come to the door!” 

When Daryl's hops from the top to the floor, he sees Glenn sitting upright in the bed with eyes as wide as an owls. Daryl pulls on pants from the night before. After he'd finished buttoning them shut, he glances back at his roommate who still hasn't moved from the spot. 

“The hell you playin' at?” He takes few steps over to the door and opens it. 

Her hand is lifted to pound again when he yanks the surface away from her. She looks surprised to see Daryl, even though she's well aware he sleeps here. Perhaps she assumed how this would all play out –and that plan involved every detail, like what she'd say when Glenn came right to the door. Her eyes are swollen red from crying, and in her other hand is her cell phone. 

Her lips are partially parted, as if she wants to say something but bites against them, not knowing what to say. Eventually, she swallows down her insecurities and resurfaces her confidence. “Is Glenn here?”

Daryl sighs, looks over her head and to the people peering through their dorm rooms from down the hall. Maggie realizes the attention she's drawn to herself and blushes, but refuses to back down from where she stands. 

Daryl swings the door open and motions for her to walk inside. He shuts the door behind her.

She's not even two steps inside when Glenn starts with, “Maggie, you weren't supposed to come--” until Daryl cuts him off.

“Stop actin' like this and just talk to her. It ain' fuckin everyday that you meet someone who is persistent in findin' ya' when you been hidin' from em'.” He glances at Maggie, and she nods her head in thanks before turning her attention back to Glenn. 

Daryl takes the chance to grab a pair of boots and his jacket. As he shuts the door he hears, “It's not so bad. I- yes, this is why. I can explain.”

When outside, he stops outside their door and leans against the wall to pull the boots over his feet and lace them within the same motion. As he walks down the hall he takes from his coat pocket a cigarette and places it between his lips. When he steps outside he fits a hand into his jacket to feel for the cold metal of his lighter. His hand bumps into something bigger, and he pulls out his cellphone from when he put it in there two days ago while in Rick's classroom. Once his cigarette is lit, he takes a deep breath and holds it while he sets off on a walk. As he exhales the smoke is swept behind him, leaving a trail like a ghost in the wind. 

The morning is still new, and the sun has yet to melt the thin layers of ice on the walkway. He cuts across the grass to avoid slipping. He'd never called Merle back yesterday, and if it weren't for purposely staying outside his dorm, he'd probably give it another couple days before calling him back. In recent times Merle had become increasingly unpredictable on how his mood would fair that day. His usual “mild” temper (where he was still an asshole) had recently been replaced by his insistent prying for trouble. 

And Daryl knew better to get too close. Merle had a habit of drugs in the past, and once upon a time Daryl had teetered down that road of destruction with him. It wasn't that he was interested in doing them again, but Merle had a way of talking him into those things. But he figures the distance is promising, and a phone call couldn't hurt. 

He places the cool frame of the phone to his ear and listens as it dials. It only rings twice, before Merle's voice fills the speaker enough that he has to pull the phone a few centimeters from his ear.

“Hey Merle.”

“How's my baby brotha' been? Not getting' into trouble down in that little Jock town of yours?”

Daryl shrugs despite Merle not being able to see him. “Been alrigh'. Could ask the same 'bout yourself.”

The line is silent for a few seconds too long. Merle's voice is calm and steady as he says, “But you know better, don't ch'ya?”

Daryl doesn't respond. The point of arguing with Merle was an endless climb up a mountain that no one would ever reach without scraping teeth on vertical rocks just to lift themselves to the top. 

Merle registers his brother's hesitation and jumps to the first subject he's habit at forming. “Bet ch'ya lovin' on all em' pussies.” 

“Stop it.” 

“What? You ain' gonna tell me that you've been sent to spend time with all that poon and you ain' stickin' your hand in that cookie jar?”

“Maybe that's why I got good grades, dick.” 

“Yeah, maybe that's why little brotha'. Tell ya, good grades ain' good for everythin'. Real-life experience, now that's somethin.” 

Merle's end of the line fill with hissing from machinery. “I gotta' get back to work. Fuckin' sonuva' bitch ridin' my ass hard.” 

“That's what ch'ya get fer droppin' out of college.. Tell ya, real life experience ain' good for everythin.'”

“Yeah, fuck you baby brother.” Daryl senses his brothers hesitation to hang up the phone, before he says, “I'll talk to your bitch ass later.” Click. 

Maybe it's because when people are on the phone, they only look down. He hadn't paid attention to where his feet took him and before he realizes it, he's stopped outside of Rick's classroom. Even though it's a weekend, the door is open and he can hear Rick on the phone. The conversation sounds like it's on the verge of ending, and for a moment Daryl considers what he would say if he walked inside. 

There's a thick layer of something he can't understand in the way Rick's voice makes his blood flow. The way his words are thick and persistent with meaning, are sharp against his brain, seeking him to lull into them and listen to everything he says without question. 

Rick tells the person he'd be there later, and then hangs up the conversation, that's when Daryl realizes that his heart has been beating in his chest so strong and persistent, that he wonders if there's something wrong with him. He places a hand across his chest out of a natural habit, and as he feels the brush of his hand through his shirt, that's when he recalls his dream from nights before.

It had been Rick who woke him up. The very dream where the random man –Rick –Mr. Grimes, sent a fever through him so fulfilling, and yet forcing him into a craving that lasted a whole day. It was such a burning of intense _need_ , that it settled somewhere deep in his belly and certain reactions throughout the day made him quiver with taste until he had to settle it himself later in the evening. 

With a breath exhaling his frustration, he shakes his head and turns to walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a tumblr account like a month ago. I'm still new to the tumblr world, but add me if you like because I tend to re-blog Rickyl stuff ALOT (that shit is so addicting) 
> 
>  
> 
> _http://justswimwiththewhales.tumblr.com/_


	7. Chapter 7

Wiper blades screech against the windshield each time they spread across the glass surface in order to cast away the rain which comes down in a continuous flow. It's dousing the local community in sheets of heavy rain mixed with ice. The road conditions are slick, and Rick has to drive slower than he normally would on the main strip of highway between town and the college. His home is roughly in between, hiding in a location not many would see while leisurely driving by as the only indication of his home is pushed far back in the woods, connecting to a small dirt road tucked between two edges of the Georgian woods. 

He'd just left a meeting with Shane at the local trucker's diner. They met only on rare occasions and kept their conversations narrowed down to business with Carl and Child Support. Every word out of each others mouth was careful and void of emotions. Things were still tense between them, and Rick had to hold back the emotions he still felt from the betrayal of his once best friend. But he in many ways that he wasn't ready to admit, he was relived that Shane would confine in him about his own son rather than keep him from the picture. Carl had threatened a boy at school that he would beat him up and Shane had intervened in time to stop the fight which provoked Shane to contact Rick and discuss his recent attitude which had been teetering along something more than a normal pre-teen temper. But Rick pressed that they wait it out some more, and perhaps, he insisted, that after the arrival of a baby sister he would find a sense of responsibility. Shane was reluctant to agree at first, but he too acknowledged that there wasn't much more they could go on for now. 

Shane, the usual cocky son of a bitch as tough and the skin on his knuckles from years of fighting, was typically arrogant with words. In college he was the first prone to a fist fight, but also the first to stick up for his best friend. Their history being side by side was something Rick sometimes looked back on with anguish, or on rare occasion these days, admiration. He knew that the betrayal from loved ones should hurt and he told himself his reaction should be something along the lines of broken or destroyed, but he simply didn't have the energy for that as he just didn't care anymore. It was more of a blow that his best friend betrayed him, and had been doing so for some time. But of course, he'd seen it coming so perhaps he had been unconsciously adjusting for it for some time. 

There were many nights he'd return late from work and Lori would be serving Shane dinner where he sat next to Carl at the table. Carl would be infatuated with his deputy badge, and even at one point commented how cool it would be if his own dad had a gun. 

Sometimes when they didn't hear Rick come through the front door after work, he'd feel as though he were walking in on them –a perfect family and he was the one interrupting _them_. And when Lori looked up and saw Rick standing in the doorway, her eyes would be far away as her hand slowly left Shane's shoulder. And that night, he'd sleep on the couch and she wouldn't bother asking why. 

Carl had grown accustom to his parents behaving more like business partners than the loving couple. They only spoke to each other when it was about him, and the only any kind of love they had was for their child or their careers. Any sort of compassion shown to each other was from a distant time and place when they'd first met. And to honest, Rick could put the blame on himself for Lori's need to find love elsewhere. 

He'd begun pulling away from Lori both emotionally and physically soon after Carl's birth. She blamed his aversion on herself –the changes that pregnancy did to a woman's body. All he could do was verify it wasn't her, and he'd try and kiss her with the same passionate vigor he remembered doing so long ago. It wasn't ever the change of her body that caused him to pull away. He could never place it, because he genuinely cared for her. Loved her, even. But something inside burned at him in a way that was relentless, and he blamed himself when the burn wasn't for her. So naturally, after years of this, she fell for the first man to actually treat her how a man should. 

In some ways, deep down, he was almost glad Carl would have a step-father like Shane. Lori could have picked any of the men that had hit on her in the past. And there were many –seldom was she ignored while walking past a group of men. She could have gone to the first man who told her she was beautiful, and he could have been a person with dark secrets for all she knew. But she waited, and she eventually found one who treated both her and her son right. Shane was willing to pull the weight of both a parent and a compassionate husband –something Rick had been unable to balance well on his own. 

His knuckles flex on the steering wheel as he sees someone in the distance on the opposite side of the road. They were walking towards town on the shoulder. The weather is harsh and has the type of cold that sinks into the bones before the freezing rain could manage to get to someone first. There ain't nowhere near here for that person (likely a student from the college) to stop. 

Rick drives by, and as he passes the figure his blue eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror. He's not the kind of man to walk away from a situation that he could help out on, so it's no surprise that he feels a pull in his chest knowing that the person isn't anywhere near town. Maybe their car had broken down up the road, or they were desperate enough to be somewhere if they were willing to walk this far in this kind of weather. 

Slowing down so not to slide on the road, he maneuvers the car to make a wide turn. Once he's in the opposite direction, he pulls up next to the person. His car is still creeping at a slow pace when he rolls down his window and can see details of the person beyond the rain covered glass. Rick hardly has to look twice to recognize who that hair belongs to –half down his face, and eyes that squint in a natural way. 

Daryl glances at him and brushes him off with a wave of passage. 

“Daryl! Get in the car. You're going to get sick from this weather.”

“Nah, I'm alrigh'.”

There was something susceptible in the way the younger man was avoiding any sort of Rick's attention. In the last few weeks he'd made progress with the man who typically avoided anyone. It was like being back to square one with the student, and there wasn't any reason for him to deserve the reversal treatment.

“You're soaking wet. Get in, I'll take you to where you need to go.”

The stubborn man shakes his head. “I'm alrigh'. I can get there myself,” he spits. 

When Daryl's pace quickens, Rick makes a split decision and speeds up the car by a pace and stops it at an angle in front of the student. “I ain't letting you walk by yourself. Just get in the damn car.”

Daryl's eyes dart towards the road just on the other side of the car, and then back to his teacher. He must weigh the odds and decide he's outnumbered against the several-ton vehicle. He eventually takes two harsh steps over to the door and roughly opens it before shutting it once inside. “Don' come cryin' to me when yer seats get ruined.”

Rick rolls up the window and takes a minute to adjust the thermostat of the car and aim the warm air onto his student. He glances at Daryl as he fumbles with folding the belt over himself and snapping it into place. From the faint light that creeps through the window from the streetlight above, Rick can make out the heaviness in the clothes as they hold onto rain. If he'd made it to town, he'd probably be half to hypothermia. There was at least another five miles under his feet, and from the looks of it, he'd done been soaked since the first mile of his walk. His hair had bunched together in strands and stuck to his face, and Rick can see where his skin has grown red from the cold. Most noticeable of all was the thick-temper and eyes narrowed more than usual. 

“Where you headed?”

“The Hospital.”

“You alright?”

“M' fine. Seein' someone.”

Rick nods his head and decides to let the questioning come to a halt. He turns the wheels away from the ditch and picks up speed to cruise down the highway. He doesn't press for more information knowing that Daryl wasn't exactly the kind of person to talk about anything personal. If he chose to open up, that would be a whole different game. Until then, Rick planned to keep to himself and simply get him where he needed to be.

Not a minute after they started down the road, the rain develops into flakes of snow that dance across the stream of light from his headlights. He feels the tires want to glide out of his control, and he instantly tightens his brace on the steering wheel as he takes control over the car once again. 

“You stayin' there overnight?” 

“Nah. Got an exam in the mornin'.”

“How are you getting back?”

Daryls head turns towards his window. “Same way I was gonna get there.”

“You know I can't let you do that.”

“You ain' got much say in what I do.”

“You're right. I don't. You do what you need to do at the hospital, and I'll give you a ride back to campus.” 

“I wasn' askin' for yer help.”

“No, you weren't. But I'm giving it.” He spares taking his eyes from the road to look at Daryl, who is reluctant to return a glance. 

The rest of the ride is in silence besides the sound erupting from the vents from the constant blow of hot air. Rick could feel his body producing sweat underneath his many layers, but he knows the man next to him needs the warmth. When they pull up to a parking spot outside the hospital, Daryl hesitates a moment before turning to Rick. “My brother was in a work accident. He should be outta surgery by now. You ain' gotta waste yer gas waitin' out here fer' me. Ya' can come inside if ya' want ta' stay warm.” 

Rick takes that as the warmest thing Daryl may possibly say tonight, so he nods his head in agreement and shuts off the car.. When stepping onto the asphalt, he has to be cautious of not falling from the tick layer of frozen water under his casual work shoes. They only pick up pace when their legs find the strip of sidewalk which has been generously covered in chips of blue salt which aid in traction. 

His mother had been a nurse in this building for many years and he spent hundreds of hours waiting for her to get off work after he was out of school. Sometimes her shift would run later than expected, and he would walk the halls for hours with nothing else to do as entertainment. Daryl doesn't object to being led when Rick takes lead, and neither does he hesitate to trust Rick's word that his brother would be up on the fifth floor. Rick walks by the front desk towards a row of chair placed neatly against the wall, and holds a hand in the direction of an assistant whose occupied with charts of work at her desk. 

She looks up from her desk when Daryl cautiously approaches, his red hand rest on the desk between him and her. “M' lookin' for Merle Dixon,” Daryl asks, his voice laced with a uncontrollable shaking that Rick has neither the inclination to know if that's from the cold, or due to his brother. 

Her gaze focuses on his hand at her eye-level, before looking to his face and noting the slight tremor in his jaw. She's a thicker copper-toned woman with a teal beaded necklace that drapes around the wide part of her neck. She has to type the name into the computer before she tells Daryl which room and where he would find it. She directs him to a room which was right across from where Rick sat now, and he couldn't help his curiosity as he watches Daryl walk in. A man that he hadn't cared to look at before, lay in a hospital bed and was wrapped in bandages from mid-arm to somewhere around his hand. He didn't exactly look like anyone related to Daryl from as much as he could tell, but when Rick hears the voice of man erupt against the walls, he makes the connection on the subtle tone that they both share. Where Merle's voice is deep and loud all at once, Daryl's is low with a sort of grating to it in a way that rumbles against one's ear, and Rick wonders how he notices such a thing. 

The closer he looks at the bandage, he is able to distinguish that there isn't actually a hand. The wrap seems to end without collecting around a ball like it should look if there were one there. And after several minutes, a seeping red sinks out the end and a nurse comes in the room to inspect it. 

Rick can't see Daryl from the angle of the doorway, but he can see Merle's face which at many times meets his own. Where Daryl can be soft at times, Merle seems to be harsh. Even though he's probably in pain despite the pain-killers, he has a set of hateful eyes that look at the man he must know came here with his brother. Rick tries to not look back, but he had found them settled on him more than once whenever he looks up from the health and fitness magazine. 

Another fifteen minutes or so had passed, and Daryl appears in the doorway shutting the door behind him. He must have decided he didn't want to stick around to watch the nurses change the dressing, because apparently the bleeding had gotten worse and more nurses had piled in to assist. He doesn't look at his teacher as he stands next to him until Rick notices and sets down the magazine. 

When they're back in the car with the once again too-hot heat on again (because Daryl has begun shivering), they sit in silence for many minutes. 

Finally Rick gets the courage to ask, “What happened to him at work?”

“Fuckin' machinery got his hand.”

“There wasn't a way to save it?”

“He said he was loosin' too much blood to get it out in-tact.” Whether it's from him chattering or his mind creating an unfortunate image, he seems to struggle saying every bit of the next sentence. “They had to make the call to cut it off then and there just ta' save his life. An' all my father could do was send a text-message sayin' that he'd been hurt. Didn' even want to come down ta' see him 'cause of work... which really just fuckin' means he's fuckin' some cunt later.” 

Maybe he's looking at the side of Daryl's face too long without saying a word, because he can't comprehend that for the first time, Daryl spoke about himself in a personal way. He had been pissed when Rick pulled up to him, and there was a reason for his retreat from Rick. He was pushing Rick away because he felt betrayed by his own father and was better off taking care of himself. Eventually, the silence feels too long and he thinks the only best thing to do is tell Daryl that he's sorry for what happened. 

“I'm sorry, Daryl,” his voice is soft, and careful to make sure Daryl knows he's genuine. 

“It is what is is. My brotha' ain' one to exactly go to work clean, if ya' know what I mean.” He places his hands in front of the vent. “It's his fuckin' fault fer bein' so dumb.” 

Rick doesn't know what to respond with, so he sighs and tries to think of the next move. It was obvious Daryl was too cold to wait the drive back to campus, and with the falling snow and slick ice on the highway, there was no way they'd be back in any time soon. The de-icer trucks would already be on their way, but there was no telling how long until the highway would be clear and safe enough to drive. If he tried, it'd probably take another two hours just to get there. And Daryl, though he wouldn't admit it, didn't seem like he could wait that long. 

“The roads are real bad tonight, and I don't think it's best that you walk back.” Daryl takes his hands from the vent. “I'll take you to my house tonight, and you can wear some of my clothes until we get yours dried off.”

“I can get there fine.”

“No, you can't.” His voice is firm and he presses the point that he has already made a decision. His gaze is set on Daryl and he waits for him to look back at him. For whatever reason, Daryl doesn't resist the fight like Rick had expected, and he slightly ducks his chin in a nod before turning away. 

Rick was essentially right on how bad the roads were. It took nearly forty minutes to get to his house, driving in a car with the heater on high, and still Daryl was shivering by the time he pulled into his driveway. The pull in to his house had already been covered by a layer of snow but his car was built for these conditions and it made it's way without getting stuck. 

He parks the car in the attached garage and shuts the door with a press of a button on the visor. When the tip of the garage door clamps down to the ground with a thud, he gets out of the car and Daryl is soon to follow him inside the door which serves a barrier between the garage and house. The door leads into a hallway covered by hardwood floors that reflect the soft light coming from somewhere down the hall. Dim lamps took refuge in the corners of the home and illuminated their faces with a soft golden hue. 

“You can use the shower up-stairs.” He places his palm against the back of Daryl's arm and notes the icy touch which he wants to pull away from, but fights against. He lets go at the base of a stair case when that overlooks a moderately sized living room. When they reach the landing, Rick leads him to the right and down a hallway. There's a door at the end and Rick takes him inside. 

“This is my guest bathroom and I don't exactly get many guests, so you should find everything still here. I'll come back with some clothes in a bit.” 

When he comes back with clothes, he listens for the sound of water splashing upon the floor of the tub before slowly twisting the knob and cracking open the door. There's a flood of steam escaping the small bathroom as he opens the door and takes a step inside. He can't see Daryl behind the curtain at first, but when the vapor twists like smoke and clears from the room, he can make out the silhouette of a form on the other side. His eyes carry themselves over the form of the other man where his arms are shaped with rolling ascents and descents from his muscles like hills and mounds across a valley. Daryl's back is turned to him, and Rick can faintly make out the shape of where his chest connects to a waist and further down... 

Before he can let himself become carried away with the invasion, Rick places a fresh towel and some of his clean laundry on the counter. He steps out and shuts the door, breathing hard for many several seconds. With the tip of his forehead against the door and his knuckles turning white from his hand still squeezing the knob tight, he stands on the other side taking slow breaths trying to comprehend with himself what he'd just caught himself doing. More so, he wonders about the surge of blood to a particular area that has become most unrelenting.

There was a reaction inside of him that he hadn't felt in years. Something feral stirred within his gut, and headed south if he would just let himself make that connection. It wasn't like he'd never been attracted to students before. But there was always that barrier he'd set for himself, just the same as many of his other colleagues had. College students were in their prime –firm bodies, equip and confident minds. They were essentially the fresh spirit that many people craved, but could rarely touch. 

But the prominent detail that ebbed in his brain was that he'd just been looking over the body of a male. 

Before he was married, or even before Lori, there had been a time he'd had an experience with another man. It was a simple one night venture and he'd never seen the man afterwards so he was able to push the memory aside and let life carry on without needing to stray away from the idea of him being anything but heterosexual. But sometimes when the night was dull and the memory crept into his weary thoughts, it'd awaken him into a sort of craving that he only seldom let himself experience. Of course a woman's body was too soft a touch to settle this desire, and he'd have to imagine he were somewhere else when letting Lori's inner flesh provide him pleasure. And she would never know that he were imagining himself with another man as she crouched on all fours in front of him and he pressed into her repeatedly. Her moans had been lost in his ears on those nights and he imagined they instead were something rougher crashing into his ears... like a course tone against the rough of a mountain. 

And afterwards, she'd be gasping for breath with a smile upon her face of gratitude, and she would ask what had gotten into him. As he lay there next to her panting with a slick stomach where his wet member lie atop him again, he'd suddenly feel nauseous at the realization of what had just played out in his mind. He'd roll over, grasp her head and kiss her atop the peak of her hair, and say she made him that way. 

He'd done this at least once a month, and sometimes more. Yet, he'd always tell himself that he were heterosexual, and even that one experience and all those times with Lori imagining she were a man, didn't change anything. 

But with Daryl standing the way he had in the shower, Rick couldn't help but imagine him wet like he is with warm water, and the way his slick muscles flexed through the semi-transparent the curtain. Maybe it was because he hadn't in fact slept with another person for nearly a year that he should feel the heat growing within him now. Or maybe it was something deeper, like the way he felt alive when speaking with Daryl on the seldom occasion that they did. 

And the fact that there was something deeper that Daryl kept from him –no matter the attention Rick was willing to give him, Daryl refused to put himself out there to receive it. Everyone typically jumped at the chance to talk about themselves. But Daryl was essentially a closed book, and Rick never experienced such a thing before without never having the time to try and open it. 

And he'd tried with Daryl, so many times. 

Against all the contemplating Rick had been doing in his hallway, he hadn't heard the shower shut off until he realizes that it's too quiet. He feels a guilt in him that he has been lingering just on the other side and so retreats to his room just on the other wall of the bathroom. 

When Daryl opens the door and steps from the room, he twists his arm behind him in order to reach back inside and shut off the light. He fits the same as Rick would into his t-shirts and jeans, except that they're filled out in different areas. Daryl's hair is still damp like it had been when Rick found him this evening, except it had been swept many times over with a towel and hung loosely. His eyes adjust to the dim hallway where only a single lit lamp down the hall provides him comfort in the unfamiliar environment. When Rick steps from his bedroom, he lingers in the doorway as he can't help himself but stare at the man in front of him before removing himself from the frame and approaching the now warm, student. 

Daryl's hand is still on the light switch, and he lets it hang there as he observes the way Rick walks over to him. 

Up close, Rick realizes that Daryl is just a bit shorter than he, but their eyes still connect even with a sparse difference in height. Against his better judgment and all sanity he may have left in him, Rick reaches out and caresses a hand against the side of Daryl's face. Daryl doesn't pull away, and Rick takes that as a good sign. His skin is still warm from the shower, and Rick wonders if his lips would feel the same too. He tempts himself to drag his hand across his cheek and explore down the skin of his neck where the skin is rough from not shaving in nearly a day. The roughness being dragged under the top-side of his fingers is a reaffirmation that he sought this kind of touch when his insides prickle with lust from the sensation of the masculine form. 

Daryl's eyes are bleak of any emotion or indication that he doesn't like what Rick is doing. Perhaps his breath picks up a beat, because his lips part some when Rick's hand starts to work down his neck. Their eyes have yet to break contact, and if anything they've become more engaged while looking into the blue of Rick's own pair. 

Rick listens to the internal ache that creeps into his intentions, and with a soft movement, he leans over and kisses the man on his parted lips. His lips are warm, like Rick had anticipated. The taste of the younger man is of cigarettes. Maybe its the musk of that sort of appeal that makes him want more. And when Daryl's lips firm and they kiss him back, Rick inhales sharply and presses into him deeper. His body craves the feel of another body against his own. Rougher than he'd intended, he pushes his body into Daryl, his back making harsh contact upon the wall. Except Daryl doesn't mind the roughness, and if anything, Rick can detect the slightest moan that escaped his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for ending it there. Torture isn't one of my virtues, but I can promise that the next chapter will pick up right from here.
> 
> This chapter was constructed this week under an absolutely sick writer with tissue shoved up her nose for majority of its creation. This cold season has wrapped me in it's deadly grip, but I was determined to post this on time! If I had more time I would reply to your comments from last chapter, but note I loved them all. 
> 
>  


	8. Chapter 8

What happened the previous night left Daryl with hot blood in his veins and a craving to feel the rush of it once more as if to piece together the little bit of sanity he felt he were losing of himself. When Rick had stood in the doorway –his dark eyes alluring and full of a focus, Daryl considered his gaze as unfamiliar seeing the a shade of sexuality behind it that he'd never noticed before. He couldn't deny himself the idea that he was intrigued when Rick walked towards him. There was no denying Rick's intentions when he lifted his hand and touched the side of Daryl's face with the back of his fingers. Daryl's fresh skin was sensitive after the shower, and even at the smallest of sensations caused his cautious demeanor to dissolve into something fragile without further hesitation. 

They'd kissed in the hallway until Rick was attempting to pry Daryl's shirt off by twisting his fingers in the fabric and sliding it upwards as he pressed Daryl's back to the wall, trapping him with his feral intentions. Rick pulled away and silently fell to his knees. Daryl felt lips pry at his bare stomach causing a shudder of pleasure to escape him. When the sound of his arousal struck Rick in the ears, he dug his nails into the skin of his waist –and Daryl recalled a familiar sensation of pain along the nape of his back. Rick's fingers were but an inch away from puffy malformed scars that spread across his whole backside in an intricate of morbid artwork. Anxiety became forefront in his mind when he feared it too soon for Rick to see. 

He pressed Rick by the shoulders to steer him away from his stomach before he could lift the shirt any higher. Rick raised his chin, and even in the dark hallway, Daryl found his icy blue gaze and it served to him as an anchor from his thoughts –Rick was a lifeline from his warped mind. They held their gaze as Rick waited patiently for Daryl's response. Daryl swallowed, his breath still trembling and his heart pounding. A bead of water collected from under his hair and ran down and trailed across his cheek-bone. He reluctantly shook his head. 

Rick's expression hardened but not in the way that indicated he was angry or even frustrated. Rather he was brought back to Earth after traveling through the abyss of lust. He slowly nodded his head then tilt it forward to rest his forehead on Daryl's bare stomach, only then allowing his fingers to slack. The damp shirt fell back around his fingertips. 

Perhaps he realized it then –that he a professor and Daryl a student, and he perused to pull away from Daryl and fall back on his knees. But in that moment there was this instant need of longing, and Daryl regretted to break their touch. He couldn't let it end like this. Daryl softly drops to his knees so that their shoulders are at level again. Folding his head inwards, he rests his chin on Rick's shoulder. The touch was minimal compared to moments ago, but his message was clear – _stay_. 

They knelt like that for many minutes. Before long, Rick lifted his arms from Daryl's sides to form around his back. Daryl cautiously returned the gesture allowing his arms to feel the contact of another humans warmth against his skin. Maybe from relief or something else, Rick lets out a sigh. His breath dances against Daryl's neck which takes with it the scent fresh of soap. 

Rick pulled back and found Daryl's eyes again. He motioned his head towards the room, “C' mon'.”

As he followed the man across soft carpet and into the room, he found himself watching Rick more than taking in his surroundings. He lingered near the doorway, wondering what would happen between them now that they'd reached a sudden pinnacle in their friendship. 

He'd only ever considered Rick as a genuine teacher who cared about his students. Of course, it could only make sense after all the hours spent after class simply talking about things. He'd never known, or even considered Rick's feelings were mutual. More than that was the most important detail Rick was in some way also interested in men –even after having a son of his own with his x-wife. 

Rick turned off the lights and touched Daryl's stomach by the tip of his hand motioning him to come into bed. He'd pulled back the blankets and crawled in before moving over so there was space for the younger man. If their kiss had never happened, Rick would have brought Daryl sleep in the guest room which was scarcely –if even that, ever used. There was something in the way Daryl recoiled but didn't want him to exactly stop being there. If the man wanted to take it slow, he could do that. 

Daryl made his way into the warm bed where the silk sheets felt cool against him for only a moment. When the pile of blankets was placed atop him, he relaxed back into the comfort of the pillow. Laying there on his back on the dark, he felt self-concious at the idea of what was happening. He'd never imagined that his day would end like this –laying next to the man he only recently began to crave, and that man was nonetheless one of his teachers. 

He was never one to let himself be close to people without placing invisible barriers around him. And sleeping next to someone felt like they were crossing one of those barriers that he used to protect himself with. 

Rick's hand drifts over his chest as he lays an arm over Daryl. They didn't move from that position until well they fell asleep late into the night. And when Daryl awoke, the early dawn was creeping through the blinds of the window illuminating the room just enough for him to make out shapes and shadows across the wall. He was still laying on his back, and Rick on his side with his chest pressed against him. His hand is above the trail of Daryl's stomach, his fingers resting above the waistband of the boxers he'd provided. 

And as Daryl lay there, listening to Rick's breaths, he came to terms that this was the first night out of the last many that he hadn't dreamed of the pain on his back, nor the man who put him there. 

And when Rick drops him off near his dorm, Daryl lingers in the car for a moment without letting words or ideas of explanation prompt his thoughts. He holds his hand on the handle and his eyes are locked on the gear-shift where Rick's hand rests –the same hand he'd secretly wanted to trail further down his stomach when he'd awoke this morning. 

He wants to explain things between them because he doesn't know when they'll be alone again. He's not one to speak his thoughts out loud, and this time is no exception. And maybe Rick feels that way too, because he's in silence with his eyes piercing the desolate parking lot ahead. Daryl nods his head and pushes the door open. 

“Thanks fer' the ride,” he says without sparing a glance at his teacher. He shuts the door and walks towards his dorm without looking back. As he walks away he feels the pull of his heart –yearning for something that it only just now woke for. He pulls from his pocket a pack of Camel cigarettes and lights one before shoving the package and lighter back.

*

In English class, Rick's pale-blue eye would normally find Daryl's several times within the hour. One would look the others way, just as the other purposely turned away. But the whole time, they knew, when the other was looking right at them. Sometimes they'd return the gaze, and there was many a time that Rick would smirk in the midst of his lecture. Today, Rick cast his attention anywhere but at Daryl. It was as if last night –and the weeks before hadn't happened. Rick's eyes are cold –their pale-blue warmth is replaced by something stoic and void of any emotion. The man who is typically engaged with the classroom sees right over them with disconnection.

Yet, Rick lingers by Daryl's desk after he dismisses the other students. He places a hand on Daryl's table and mutters for him to stay a minute to discuss his final project. They step inside his office and Rick closes the door behind him before placing himself by his desk. He leans against it and folds his arms over his chest. Only now does he actually look at Daryl who stands in place –his shoulders drooping compared to their natural poise. 

“You don't need to write the rest of the papers I'd told you to write after the fight.”

He tries to control his expression and not let his eyes give himself away –maybe they're hurt, or confused, and he tries not to let that show. He was equipped for this sort of thing. His father had a malicious habit for making it a game out of the way he'd grimace when struck. The less pain he let show –the less painful it'd be in the end. He shrugs, “How come?”

“What you did was fine. You can focus on your other work instead.” 

He squints, the blue of his eyes disappearing as some of his anger surfaces. “I see how it is.”

Rick places his hands on his hips –and Daryl can't help but notice this and he recalls the way those hips felt while pressed against his own. “Daryl, it's not like that. I'm not trying to--” he pauses, for lack of patience, and lifts a hand to pinch the front of his head. He sighs and frustration escapes him. “You know I could get fired for what happened.”

Daryl shrugs. “Sure. Yeah, I get it.” 

And there's a silence between them, yet it is nothing compared to the ache and throbbing that pulsates in Daryl's heart which seems to drill against his chest uncomfortably. There's nothing left for them to say, and he feels he has to escape this piece of shit jail-cell before he loses it. 

Daryl takes a step back and goes to leave the office. 

“Daryl, wait.” 

He doesn't want to stop. He wants to rip the door open and slam it shut and tear into the classroom just so he can slam the books on the front desk to the floor on his way out. But he stops, and his ears burn with the blood that rushes to them as he waits for Rick to finish. He's cast like stone with his hand on the knob. 

And then there's a hand, two hands, creeping along his waist through the thick of his jacket. He feels the pressing of Rick's chin on his right shoulder before the strength of his arms pull Daryl's back onto his chest. He presses his forehead to the back of Daryl's neck then mutters, “You know I could get fired for this. This ain't something to take lightly.” 

The burning in his stomach that aches for him to want Rick seems to come to life again at the feeling of Rick's words dancing against his neck. He wants to moan out loud and he hates Rick for that. How does he do this to him? Rick reaches forward and grabs Daryl's hand away from the knob. He uses his index finger to press the button on the center of the knob. Rick reaches his hand between Daryl's shirt and pants. He seems to remember where he let it lay this morning, because his fingers find Daryl's trail and he laces his fingers around the hair before feeling where it leads. 

And this time Daryl does let a small moan escape him. He feels his head pressing into Rick as he begins to swell with lust. He can distinctly feel Rick's hardness against his back, and this makes him even more aroused. He wants to feel it... _taste it_. 

Rick pulls Daryl away from the door and turns him so they face each other. Their eyes are locked –two shades of blue reflecting right against the other one. They're mere inches away and their breaths hitch up in speed as an intensity flourishes. This time, it's Daryl who leans inward. It kills Rick with need as he waits for Daryl to close the distance, but he waits, because he has to know it's what Daryl wants this time. He's willing to let the other man take this on his own terms –sexually... emotionally. 

When Daryl's lips connect with Rick's, they're soft at first as they ever so slightly graze against the other mans. Rick takes a moment to respond –his focus lost in the way Daryl's mouth is moving against his own, but he comes back to gravity with need and presses back into the man. It ain't like kissing Lori –her confident with expectations and knowing how to kiss a man. Daryl, for lack of a better word, is unsure of himself. Unsure of this, -him and another person being intimate. But Rick wants to take that fear away, and he peruses control over the momentum of their kiss. He presses into Daryl and lets his tongue skim his lips until Daryl opens his mouth, letting Rick take lead. 

His hands are searching Daryl –behind his head, through the thick of his dark hair, down his tense neck, across his chest, --taking that damn jacket off so he can feel the curve of his arms as they flex, moving his own hands cautiously around Rick's body. Rick leads him away from the door. 

Turning him around, Rick presses Daryl against the desk so he practically sits on the damn thing. Daryl doesn't resist Rick's command, and their mouths clash into each other once again. Rick is slightly above him –his body curving inwards as Daryl' head is titled up at him. Rick's gasping and takes the risk of reaching out and feeling for Daryl through his pants. 

He calculates Daryl's reaction, but he can't take it as a bad thing when he thrusts back into him, his body moving against him while on the desk. He's moaning, so Rick undoes the button as Daryl's hands work their way around his own neck where he places a soft bite there. Rick practically looses it then and grunts with arousal. Once he pulls Daryl's pants down, Rick reaches into his boxers and pulls it out, beginning to stroke it in lengths that send Daryl on an abyss of buoyancy. 

Daryl fumbles for Rick's pants, only halting for a moment in order to open the belt –caving inwards as he does so when Rick's hands pick up a steady pace. And when he does manage to grab onto Rick hard erection, he starts pumping the mans length in sync with the way Rick does to him. Their eyes are focused as they look right into each others gaze. 

Rick mumbles something –it being lost when Daryl hits him in the right spot. He leans forward, letting their mouths connect once again. He pulls away to nibble on Daryl's neck before finding his lips once again. They're both focused only on the other man, trying to make the other one feel something while holding it in themselves. It's almost like a sick and twisted game –try and make the other come first while holding it in yourself. Their moans are soft but deep in their chests with the door only being several feet away. But they're at the point where things like that don't matter, and the only thing more important is making the other person lose themselves in their own hand. 

Daryl's eyes become laced with a soft expression and he finds Rick's own before squinting shut and burying his face into Rick's chest. Daryl tries to hold in his moan when he feels his orgasm take control over his body. His body shudders and reacts with a violent reaction and he's pressing so harshly into the man while trying to feel Rick against his own as it reacts in waves of pleasure. Seeing Daryl lose it seems to be the thing that takes Rick over the edge, because he spills all over Daryl's fist and melts around Daryl who is still shuddering against him. His free hand grasps at the back of Daryl's shirt and he balls it into a fist while burying his face there so his grunts will be muffled. 

By the time they're both breathing at a normal rate again, they pull back and comprehend the mess they managed to create on the both of them. Rick grins at Daryl whose eyes are locked onto the white covering his shirt as if he ain't ever seen so much fluid on himself before. With the hand that had been balled into Daryl's shirt he reaches around and lightly touches the side of Daryl's face, his thumb caressing his cheek-bone before kissing him atop the head. Rick is quick to find tissues on his desk and hand half to Daryl so he can wipe the evidence of their orgasms away. The remains of their lust together is discarded in the wastebasket. 

Rick wraps his strong arms around Daryl's head and pulls him to the crook of his neck where Daryl can hear the steady breaths arise and escape Rick's lungs. They sit like that for several minutes, and Rick wonders how the hell this student has him so lost in his own logic, that he's willing to do things like this where they could so easily get caught –and his job forever dissolved into nothing. But he doesn't wonder on that long, because Daryl for the first time, seems to openly want him. And that's the first real amount of progress he feels he'd made this whole year.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what can I say? Um, I am so incredibly sorry for this being 9 days late. I knew it would be at least a day late last week because I'm on winter break which means I'm working more and you know... Holidays. But when I opened my laptop to work on it last Friday, I realized my laptop would NOT TURN ON. Shit. But, several days later, that got fixed and late once again... here is chapter 9. So on that note, next weeks chapter *may* be late. But, with that said, there's only two chapters left after this, so I want to make sure I leave this story off on a good note so I'm going to try real hard and keep posting on Fridays. Thank you everyone for all your comments, kudos and love I've received so far.

“Dude, where have you been?” Glenn stands up from the bunk bed when Daryl walks through the door, the only indication he'd arrived had been the screech from the hinges as he'd pressed the opening wide. Sweat glistens across Glenn's forehead, and he adjusts his shirt over the tan skin showing of his waistline. Maggie sits as upright as the top-bunk bed will allow her tall body, her cheeks deepening with red as she clears her throat and rustles a hand through her shoulder-length hair. 

“I was here this mornin',” Daryl says dismissively, shutting the door behind him. 

“Well I figured that out when I saw you'd gotten your backpack. But where did you go last night? You just disappeared when I came back from the cafeteria.” He places a hand across his hip and eyes him suspiciously, and Daryl gets the indication that he's being parented from his roommate. 

“Mhmm,” he shrugs. He wants to deject Glenn's questioning but when he shifts his attention back at him, he catches the genuine concern of his absence. Glenn has been one of the few friends he's had over the last few years. There's a inner struggle of telling him everything (about himself), or keeping the firm distance he's managed to do this whole time. He witnesses the hurt in the soft almond eyes at the realization that he's being shrugged off. 

Daryl sighs and runs a hand through his hair until it rests on the back of his neck. “My brother got in an accident at work, so I went ta' town and saw him.”

“Shit man. Is he ok?”

“Lost a hand in the equipment.”

Maggie gasps and a hand covers her mouth in shock. They both are looking at him with their mouths wide open. “Man, I'm so sorry. How did you get there? I could have given you a ride.”

“A friend gave me one, but thanks.”

“Oh.” 

Daryl shrugs again and looks to the ground. “He's alrigh' though. That tough sonuva' bitch is thick as steel. 'Sides, he's probably lookin' forward to the money he'll get outta this –knowing him.” 

Daryl finds himself standing next to the door with his backpack still in hand. He holds his breath, waiting for them to respond. After a moment he finds himself fidgeting with the handle of his backpack. His eyes shift to the floor and a contrast against his jeans snags the focus on his eyes. His zipper is undone and there's a trail of white across his pants where he knows that Maggie and Glenn had both noticed. He tries to act casual as he holds the bag in front of the mark holding the secret between him and Rick. He lingers in front of the door unsure of what to say. 

He could tell them now –everything. They were the type of people that he could sense didn't necessarily tell stories to gather attention, so his story wouldn't be the subject of their next group gathering. He was bursting at the rim to speak about it anyways. Everything about what they were doing was confusing and maybe they'd be the key to tell him if this was far fetched and not worth it. Or if it was? But none of anything was really making sense these days. Daryl felt himself being pulled towards the door. His subconscious telling him to escape the uncertainty and think through this himself.

*

When Daryl receives his graded essay back, he flips to the back page to check his grade and the column of notes Rick usually left. There's a sticky-note attached to it to the last page. Daryl peels the top of it from the paper to read the small message printed for his eyes only. Under a scribble of words is a phone number. “Call me tonight with your questions.”

The corner of his mouth tilts playfully at the discrete message. He passes Rick on his way out the door and spares him a nod on his way out. He can't see the way Rick's eyes follow him out of the room, and the way Rick's tongue seems to drift across his lips when he can't see him anymore –only remembering the taste of his neck and the tremble of each others bodies pressed together as they rode their orgasm together. 

Daryl opens his phone as soon as he's back at the dorm and punches in the number to his contacts. He opens his messages to text the number but hesitates before he sends the message. If they text, that left the chance for their conversation to be seen. He kept his phone locked with a password at all times, but what about Rick? 

This thing of there's, whatever it was, had to be in secret or they'd both lose everything. Even though at this point, the only thing Daryl was starting to want was Rick. All the other goals he'd had in life were beginning to appear in a haze. School. The business degree. None of that really mattered to him. It was only ever to secure himself a future. Rick had started to wake him up from some sort of hibernation he'd been in. And now he was awake, and Rick's frame hit the center of his focus with a full on force. 

But whether that feeling was mutual or not, he did not know. 

He fumbles with the bulk of his phone between his hands and stares at the screen. Talking over the phone was a strong dislike due to the lack of presence of the other person with only his voice to portray himself. After a minute of starring at the number typed across the screen, he finally presses the little green button and holds the phone to his ear. 

It only rings three times before someone answers with, “Hello?”

“I ain' understandin' a single bit of the final. Ya' do a slack job at providin' explaination.” 

He can practically hear the grin when Rick says, “I'm sorry you ain't understanding the thorough instructions I gave. But if you insist on having me re-explain them, I suppose I can meet you somewhere and we can go over things again.” 

“In your office?”

“I'm afraid last time we met there my message wasn't clear enough. Besides, I'm locking it now as we speak. Can you meet me somewhere else later tonight? Like in town?”

“I'll have to get back to you on that.” 

“K. Be prepared to meet me later and know what you want to come out of our meeting. Bye.”

“Bye.” His phone blinks with the end of call. He sighs, registering the voice he'd heard over the other end and how he could already miss it, having just spoken to him? He sits with his elbows pressing into the tops of his knees. The spot where his elbows sink into begins to hurt, but he doesn't let it pull him from his thoughts. He rests with the phone between his hands, cupping his chin above them. They were playing a dangerous game, and the more Daryl saw Rick's cautiousness, the more he realized just how bad this could end up. 

It wasn't normal to see a student with a teacher outside of the grounds. It wasn't like their college was in the heart of a big city full of distractions and hundreds of passing faces to blur out each day. People in the small town talked and were likely familiar with the faces they'd come to recognize over the years. 

Glenn comes into the dorm, his book bag filled the brim with items from his week of homework. “Fucking finals dude. I'm so ready to get them over with,” he grunts as he drops the shoulder bag to the ground. He tosses himself on the bed allowing his shoes to hang over the edge. “You want to study with me tonight? Maggie has this study group she sort of organizes in the library. You should come.”

“Nah dude, but thanks. I was actually wonderin' if you'd give me a ride to town later.” 

“To town? What are you going there for?”

“My brother being hurt an' all... I want to stop by and see how he's doin'. Get him some things, ya know?”

Glenn nods. “Yeah, sure dude. I can do that.” 

“Probably gonna' stay the night over there again so don't cry when I don' turn up later.”

Glenn smirks. “Dude, you need to get out of here now and then. It's good for you,” Glenn says. “Don't you have class in the morning?”

Daryl shrugs. “Yeah, but I can find a way back.”

“Just take my car then. I'm not really using it much and I don't want you to miss class before finals.” 

“Thanks,” Daryl feels himself smiling warmly at Glenn. There was this strong part of him that wanted to spill everything –the truth, himself for godsakes; his fucking interest in men. There just wasn't enough courage left in him to take that kind of risk yet.

*

They stand awkwardly in Rick's kitchen. The floor of it was disorganized mess of boxes left opened, some with their contents on the floor next to them in a haste of sorting.

Daryl had driven here and Rick led him into the kitchen where he offered him some of the dinner he had prepared. It wasn't a date sort of deal –with a set table and knit place mats underneath the plates where they'd sit across from each other. Instead, they leaned against the counter balancing the plate of Hamburger Helper while staring at the boxes –sometimes looking at each other. 

Rick catches Daryl staring at the box of china he'd left on the floor by the stove. “Lori's. Been taking most of the stuff form the basement to give back to her.” 

“Was this house hers too? Ya' know. Before.”

Rick shrugs. “Yeah. When she left, she left everything behind. I'd mostly thrown it all into boxes and put in the basement. They say 'out of sight, out of mind'. Her things got mixed with some of my things.” He sets his plate in the sink and Daryl is soon to follow before rinsing off the ceramic with a spray of warm water out of the faucet. When he's finished, he shifts back against the counter and folds his arms across himself. 

He wanted to say something –about them. Rick had said over the phone to know what he wanted to come out of their meeting. It could have meant nothing and it were him jumping the fence to the other side where the grass was greener –and fresher, and a field where he and Rick could be together without subject to loosing everything. 

His eyes are void of looking at Rick. Ever since today, and last night even, he'd been unwilling to comprehend what they'd done together. Rick had addressed that this, between them, could get him fired. It didn't make sense then that he'd want to continue any of it. And it made Daryl feel used. He didn't just roll over for people and let them do with him as they wanted before leaving. But Rick had made sure for him to know that he could get fired for this. So why do it then? 

Rick must sense the recline in Daryl emotionally. He stands in front of him and touches the side of his arms. He asks, “Daryl, is it about earlier?” 

He shrugs. “I don' know. Jus' don' know what to make of it yet, is all.” 

Rick sighs. “Yeah, me neither. This situation...” Daryl catches him shaking his head. 

“You don' want this?”

Rick finds his eyes. “I do, Daryl. You and me –I haven't felt something like this in years.” He sighs and rakes a hand through the curls on his head. “I am passionate about the side of you that I see sometimes. I feel like I don't quite know you though. Your degree is your business.” He pauses, takes a breath of air through his nose. “It kills me to know that you're not writing just to be safe. Nothing is safe. _This_ ain't safe.” He motions between them. “You doing all this risk?” Daryl's eyes set with Rick's own, and he has to contemplate to continue, knowing he's likely setting the man off. “You're risking a hell of a lot by not doing what you want with your future. You could at least make your risks worth it.” 

Daryl's eyes narrow even more than their normal slits that shield his piercing blue gaze. “I damn told ya already why I can't go through with anything else. Why can't ya jus' let it go?”

“Because it ain't you, is why! It feels like a shame to watch someone like you who don't know how good they are at something because they're too afraid to try.” 

Daryl's arms begin feel constricting where they rest across his chest. “Afraid? That's fuckin' bullshit. You ain' known any of the shit I done in my life that causes fear. The kinda fear that someone like you” he flails his hand towards Rick's chest, “–suit and nice shoes before class, ain' ever dreamed of in yer nightmares. Mind yer own damn business fore' you jus' get into someone pants and start tellin' em' how to live their life jus' cause' you think you know somethin' about them bein' afraid!” 

He stands in font of Rick whose eyes are narrowed in a gaze that Daryl can't quite make of. He doesn't recoil like Daryl had thought he would –not in the way anyone else in his life should have by now. Usually there'd be a fist coming for him now if it were anyone else in his life before college. He didn't dare speak out against his father or Merle, so his reactions tell him to tense. But Rick just stands there –calculating Daryl. His breath hitches in his lungs as if he can't hold it in long enough. Feeling like he's caged and unsure how to react with this silence and no fist coming for him, Daryl snatches Glenn's keys off the counter-top and leaves the kitchen. 

He's halfway down the front porch, a cigarette already in his lips as he lights it, when the front door behind him opens. 

“Daryl.”

He stops, inhales the cigarette and releases the smoke before turning his head slightly to the side. He lets it dangle on his lips, waiting for the man to say something that'll make him regret his own outburst later. This will all have been a fling, and after this quarter he'll go back to focusing on his shit degree and soon enough he'll be out of the college with a business to help manage with his drunken father. Rick had been his inner desire –the passion of his writing, the confidence to achieve what he wanted in life. Part of what Rick had said was right, but his delivery was shit. If only he really knew about his secrets then he wouldn't have said those things. 

He turns away from Rick and watches the string of cars pass through the slivers between the trees like silhouettes against the light behind them. It's an early sunset and faint pink dances with shades of orange etched across the sky through the veins of the branches barmen of leaves. He takes another drag off the cigarette, letting the smoke dance across his lips. The smoke hits the back of his throat with an intense agenda –snaking the moisture from the back of his mouth and leaving a dry sensation with the taste of nicotine. It's all he can do right now to focus on the real life sensations and avoid the ache in his chest that tries to take refuge. 

“Come back inside. You're right. I don't know you –things you're not afraid of, the reasons you go on with your degree. You're right, and I'm sorry.”

He flicks some of the ash onto the snow below. The ashes linger on a mound of snow before he turns his gaze away from some of the beauty of earth that he'd just ruined. He's never good at apologies –those kind of things never existed in his life. But he lets his eyes connect with Rick's and he tries his best so soften them a bit, before nodding at Rick. He consumes the rest of the cigarette with a final breath before smashing the cherry tip against his the bottom of his boot and placing the crushed portion of what's left on the steps. He makes a mental note to pick it up on his way out the door.

Rick is relived that Daryl takes the steps back up the porch before him. He feels the desire to reach out and touch the man along the side of his arm as he stands next to him. Daryl's eyes are cautious again, neither lingering too long back at the other man or looking away for too long. It kills Rick to see the way Daryl's own little outburst made him recoil. Rick was beginning to realize that everything with this man was little steps. Sometimes there'd be leaps forward, and sometimes they'd make hurdles backwards. 

The professor opens the door to his home, leading the student inside his house before shutting the door behind him. They stand in the entry way where Daryl's boots leave a melted puddle of water from where the snow had packed into the grooves of his boot. Rick leans inwards and rests his eyes on Daryls before tilting his head forward so their foreheads are almost touching. The warmth of each others skin radiates off the other one, and its torturous not to fall into the heat and kiss the other man. But eventually, even the close contact isn't enough, and Rick pushes his lips into Daryl's. Daryl returns the kiss softly, and if Rick can read him right, he registers the sight of pain across Daryl's face when he pulls away. The younger man's eyes are haunted, and his hand reaches out like he can't find a place to rest it.

“It's okay, you're okay,” Rick says softly. His voice is low, a sense of comfort brushing just between the two of them. Something tells him to reach out and touch the side of Daryl's face, where the fine stubble begins to feel like home to Rick's careful fingers. 

Daryl nods. His eyes betray him and the blue –so fucking blue, of his eyes stand out as if their beauty has been enhanced. Rick can see the faint red in the eyes where something deeper lies behind them. He doesn't know what it means and he observes the man. There are so many things he hides, and if only he would share those things... 

This time its Daryl who kisses him. Still soft –those lips so soft. There's roughness from the friction against their faces brushing against one another, and when Daryl speeds up, Rick moans deeply in his chest. The sound vibrates between them. Rick bites down against Daryl's lip, evoking a similar response before hips press against his own. He can feel the hardened dick, and his own comes to life with an intense eagerness. 

They somehow make their way up the stairs –Rick pushing Daryl down at one point against the edges of the steps and kissing him until he found a way to unbuckle the belt. They kicked off their shoes at that point as well. Rick didn't remember making a conscious thought to remove his shirt, but the cold air lunges at his skin causing his skin to raise until they make it to the warmth his bed. When the are nested against the mattress, one is above the other consuming each others lips in a desperate battle of dominance –one that Rick wins. Rick pushes Daryl onto his stomach. Daryl is still fully clothed while Rick craves skin-on-skin contact as he presses into the back of the man, teasing his desire more than anything by pressing against him and pushing harder with his intentions. When he reaches down to push the fabric of the shirt upwards, Daryl fights the invasion and suddenly rolls onto his back, twisting himself now so Rick is straddling one of his thighs. 

They stare at each other –the faint glow of the hallway light illuminating the corners of each others face so neither can really read the others expression. The lack of sight enhances their hearing, allowing the shakiness of each others breath to fill their ears like a pulsating sound. Rick leans down, his elbows supporting his own weight above the other man. With one hand he reaches out and brushes Daryl's hair back, kissing him as he does so. He bites at the bottom lip, bruising it ever so slightly so his memory will remain later. Daryl moans and lifts his body into Rick. Rick can't help himself –can't help the memory of Daryl coming into his palm that seeps into his mind and how he wants to re-create that scene into his current sight. He feels for the jeans and brushes aside the undone belt that hangs annoyingly in his way. He un-bottons the jeans and works to free Daryl from them before doing so himself. 

The faint lines seen by the dim light reveals the muscle tone of Rick's chest and arms typically hidden by his casual clothes. Daryl reaches out and runs a hand down his chest, across a sensitive nipple, down his abs, before resting on the hardness just shy of the barrier of his boxers. Its not long before he pushes the fabric down and holds Rick in his fist, moving his hand like artwork, forcing Rick to lean back on his knees and moan in the dark. 

Rick pulls back and resumes kissing Daryl, tasting his neck once again –god how he craved that taste of his skin again. Daryl feels the edges of his shirt being pushed upwards. Either too aroused or too comforted by the darkness, he swallows, but allows the invasion. Fingers trailing across his skin in such a gentle manor feel foreign to his mind that screams with agony at the memories which taunt his aroused state. Maybe Rick senses this, because he's kissing him again. It's all he can seem to do to calm the man whose breath has sped up in an unnatural way. 

When Rick has the shirt removed, he kisses Daryl's bare skin, trailing downwards until he reaches his member, removing the boxers until they're both naked. He teases the tip of it, admiring the way Daryl's body hitches in response. When he looks up, he and Daryl are both looking at each other, Daryl's eyes intense and focused as he watches Rick inflict pleasure upon himself. 

Before long, he's looking up at the ceiling, his whole body in chaotic waves of pleasure as each ripple passes within him, bringing him closer to the edge as much as he tries to confine himself and hold it in. Rick seems to find that spot, and he sees the way Daryl can't hold still as he moans each time it's pressed. He focuses on the hardness, observing the reaction over, and over again. Each time is more unbearable to watch, his own pleasure seeping out in readiness. When Daryl does orgasm, Rick feels a wave of heat riding through his own body in watching the man lose it. And hearing that beautiful symphony –he'll ever get enough of that sound. 

Daryl's breath is still shaking when he sits upright. He kisses Rick's chest and pushes the man back against the bed. They''re laying on the edge of it. Their bodies pressed together again as Daryl finds Rick and pushes his mouth onto Rick's dick. Rick's hands react and reach out, his nails scrape against Daryl's skin. He's pressing onto his shoulders, watching the way the man takes control over him. There's something about this other person –so full of secrets and emotions, taking him to the edge only moments before and now that person seeks to do the same. He can hardly keep it in himself, his own hips going in sync to the attack of such a pleasure on himself. 

It's not long before his dick is pulsating and spilling semen into Daryl's mouth as he cries out in the dark. Daryl doesn't even flinch at the bitter taste in his mouth. He keeps working on Rick until he's out of breath and so sensitive from the orgasm. 

With sheets tangled and hanging off the bed, their feet lay under the covers while they both of their naked bodies are pressed against one another as exhaled breaths skim the others face. Their bodies are still covered in sweat, glistening in the dark. And as they drift off to sleep, Rick's hand wanders across Daryl's naked body. Rick feels puffy lines along Daryl's back and he carefully touches each one, trailing it as if trying to read secrets in the dark like a blind man reading braille. His mind screams the word _abuse_ at him, and his eyes suddenly open wide when his brain makes the connection, jolting him from his state of being half asleep. His head is angled off the pillow, and in the dark he catches the glint of Daryl's eyes looking back at him. Daryl's tense. After a moment, he nods at the questioning look Rick is giving him. 

Rick sighs, and relaxes back into the pillow. His expression softens... and he forces himself to shut his eyes and simply let his hands take in the moment. It takes everything in Daryl to not pull away. Yet he lets Rick touch him in that way, long into the night when they fall asleep. Rick's hand is slumped across Daryl's back, relaxed from when he had pulled Daryl in close. Now that he knows the secret Daryl had been holding in all this time.


	10. Chapter 10

He'd felt the scars. They drifted under his fingertips, hot like touching coal fresh in a bath of fire. Each contoured line seared his skin as if telling him their own story and how they came to be. The puffy marks were traced in his memory. The place Daryl had kept warm on the satin blue sheets had been abandoned early in the morning well before the alarm woke Rick. Only an hour later, Rick leaned against his counter of the bathroom after pulling himself from the hot shower and into the small misty room. He presses his palms to the edge of the counter-top and hunches forward, leaning into it as if it holds all his weight. He watches the lines of his figure become more apparent as the condensation on the mirror slowly disappears. 

If he looked at those fine lines close enough he could see the aging upon his features. The last year had gone too fast. And here he stood, his hands trembling like he was losing his grip on everything. He'd lost over half a years worth of custody of his son to his wife, who left him for his best friend. His career was sitting on the tip of a hot knife with the realization that he found someone worth letting in... a student. He was risking everything for this man. And as he woke the next day and Daryl was gone, he knew then how much he enjoyed the presence of Daryl. There had been an ache in his chest when he rolled over and felt the absence of the warmth he craved. His heart sank when he saw Daryl had dressed and left without a notice goodbye. And how foolish he felt, wondering if Daryl had tried to wake him, maybe even kiss him goodbye?

But still, there was so little he could make of him. He'd felt those scars in the night and the timing just wasn't correct to say anything about them. So he traced them, and Daryl let him. Months of trying to steer closer to the man, and the one thing that made Rick feel he had been let in was the simple fact that Daryl let him trace those scars. Without a doubt, Rick knew now that if he'd tried to feel them the night he'd first kissed Daryl it would have ended a lot differently. Everything with Daryl was timing and how perfectly events laid out. Daryl didn't speak often. He would never announce he had issues and he needed space. So if Rick made the wrong move thinking it as something normal, such as touching him on the shoulder or back even, Daryl would lash out and distance himself further. Despite him being so damn difficult, there was still the warmth that probed Rick's mind, after it being so cold after a long absence of being true to himself. 

He can't get the memory of those scars off his hands. And it wasn't Daryl's fault. He couldn't imagine how and when those scars had been put there. He had a firm idea based off what he knew of him already. His brother was cold –where had he learned that from? Merle had taken one look at Rick while in the hospital and it sent a chill down Rick's spine that he'd neither admit to or worry himself on. Merle was dark, where Daryl was in some ways, many ways, light. 

But he lacked the confidence to take a risk and only kept to ideas and a future planned out for him by anyone but himself. Rick wanted to change that in him. Ultimately, Daryl's decision to take a risk was in his own hands. Rick had read the papers so many times. There was no doubt that Daryl was gifted and was by no means a natural talent per-say. Daryl had to honestly try to write a good paper, but he was incredibly determined and strong-willed, so is capable of pulling it off each time. There was always room to grow, and he had already done so over this quarter. Perhaps it was the only way he could keep his mind occupied when he'd received those painful marks. And that's when Rick understood, why the writing degree wasn't really on the forefront of Daryl's mind.

Maybe he never considered it a career choice. It had only ever been a means to distract himself. Daryl couldn't even recognize what he wrote was talent. It'd only ever been a survival mechanism. 

He stands back from the mirror and wipes his hand across the glass so he can briefly make a clear picture of himself before water collects in droplets over the image of his face. He pictures how Daryl would look if he stood here next to him where the light could touch his back for Rick to see. His stomach clenches and his insides tremble with empathy at the thought of what his back may look like if he were to actually see the remains of his abuse. 

His body works in mechanical articulation as he prepares himself for work. Even on the drive to work his mind is elsewhere. 

Finals are today, and he won't see Daryl until tomorrow. Which he can't decide if is for better or worse. Part of him aches for the missing piece his heart has already claimed as it's own, yet, he would hate to now see the hurt in those blue eyes that he'd missed before. And what if, Daryl didn't want him? What if, after all this, someone should find out of his act? 

But he was a man to take risks, especially when his heart wanted exactly what it knew it wanted. He couldn't fight with logic. It just didn't work that way with him. 

Back at his home when the little light of the day sank away into darkness, Rick sat with his phone held loosely in his hand while staring at the television. It flashed lights at him in several hues and tones which illuminated the room around him. But he couldn't quite focus on the shapes that were dancing across his placid face. Occasionally he caught a news broadcast about the war, and sometimes desperate political campaigns splayed across the screen. The glimpse of an abused-dog stood out to him at one point, long enough that he held focus until the commercial started asking for donations and flashing a 1-800 number at him. 

He hadn't heard from Daryl since last night. He didn't call him, but he did find it within himself to send a text right after work which asked if Daryl had an easy time with the assignment. 

Nothing. And that had been hours ago. 

His mind jumped from conclusion to conclusion several times within the next hour after he'd sent it. Like a bullet ricocheting across steel walls, his brain ached with confusion and tried to make sense over the events within that last 24-hours. His brain, without alleviation of coming to a conclusion, eventually gave up and told his heart to suck up the mistake it had so foolishly made.

And so he sat down in the over-stuffed chair, not even draping the blanket over himself like he'd wanted to do. He felt pathetic, really. Like some high-school kid love-struck and heartbroken over a simple fling dumb enough to let something so acute take a potentially lethal stab at his career. But perhaps it was the silence that was most painful. It left him wondering, and questioning what had gone wrong. 

His thoughts are disrupted when there's an insistent knock at the door. He hadn't even heard a car approach down lonesome road, nor seen the headlights since the television captivated his eyesight. The knocking is harsh against the wooden door –the hollow echo raging against his ears, as if desperate for Rick to answer the door. He lives out in the middle of nowhere, so it's no mystery that he should grab his colt in the small drawer next to the front door. There had been no missed calls on his phone, and he wouldn't expect Shane or Lori to come by in such a hurry without calling him before. Instinct tells him to be on guard, and he cocks the gun back so the chamber is loaded, holding it firm next to his side. As he opens the door, he hears a grunted gasp which sinks right into his heart.

“Rick!”

He swings it open when he recognizes Daryl standing on his porch. But he's not okay, and Rick immediately sets the gun down so he can grab Daryl who is bleeding profusely from his face. His eyes immediately lock on the blood that has already been smeared across his face, already partially dried. The sharp-points of his cheek bones are now swollen and already showing where bruises are forming. And his nose is pouring blood like a dripping faucet. He wipes at it with his arm but all he can do is stand there, neither men able to find words right away. He looks desperate, his eyes soft and almost pleading with him for something. 

“Daryl what-”

“They know Rick. He knows!”

Rick grabs onto his shoulders and helps guide him into his house before shutting the door behind. 

“What do you mean?”

Rick faces Daryl and so very cautiously brings his hands to Daryl's cheeks so he can look into his wild eyes. Daryl had been crying. His eyes are red and he can make out where tears had run down his blood and dirt covered face. 

“My dad. Merle,” he spits out. “I told em' I wanted out of the business.” Daryl swallows. 

Rick feels the red in his temper flair.. He tilts his head at an angle. “So they did this to you?” 

Daryl slowly shakes his head. A slowly trickle of blood escapes his nose and Daryl presses the back of his coat to stop the flow. Rick lightly touches his arm and directs him to follow him to the bathroom the main floor. He wants answers, hell, he's pissed until he gets answers, but there's no telling how long Daryl has been bleeding and for right now, helping him is most important. The room is slightly smaller than the one upstairs so both men take up a fair amount of space while crowded in there. But neither seem to mind the closeness as their shoulders brush against one another. If anything, it calms both their nerves. 

Rick gives Daryl a hand-towel. Daryl gently places it under his nose before tilting his head upright. Rick grabs another towel and runs it under cool water before wringing the excess out. He places it against the side of Daryl's face that took the brunt of the attack. Daryl startles and goes to pull back, but when he finds Rick's eyes, he calms, and Rick nods before putting it back in place. Rick places it to his cheek again and with his other hand he puts in on Daryl's shoulder. 

Ten or so minutes pass and Daryl removes the towel pressed under his nose. Rick finally asks,“Did your dad do this to you because of what you told him?”

“Nah'. Jus' tol' me he was cancelin' my tuition. I didn' go to my statistics final today. I believed what you said yesterday, and I jus' came to terms that I didn' care 'bout the business degree.” 

“Who did this then?” he asks carefully. He feathers the soft towel against his cheek as he wipes some of the blood off his face. 

Daryl looks down. His lips tremble but he composes himself before speaking again. “Merle. He knows Rick. I don' know how –must of figured it out at the hospital. He always been on me 'bout bein' queer.” Daryl takes a moment to pause and shrugs his shoulder. “He's suspected for a few years –always threatenin' he'd beat the fag outta me if it was there. He's been angry about the accident and I don' know what caused him to snap. At the house I said that I changed my mind 'bout the business degree, and he jus' started making all these assumptions that you fucked with my head and I can't see anything beyond what you've done to me.” 

Rick tenses, and his eyes burn when he realizes he hasn't blinked them since Daryl started talking. 

“I think he always has felt that if I got the business, I'd let him in just like that. Everything just went to shit after I told them. I started to walk outta' the house when my dad was cussin' 'bout everything, and that's when Merle just started wailing on me.” Daryl scoffs. “The fucked up thing, is I let him do it at first –one hand an' all. I figured a few good punches in and he'd quit. But my father just stood there the whole time and taunted Merle to teach me fer' waistin' their time. In the end I had to hit him back or he wouldn't stop.”

He's brushing the other side of Daryl's face with his fingers. There's a big relief in his heart –having Daryl here, who came to him for help. But he aches with a dark anger that someone would do this to a person he cared for. 

Rick helps clean the rest of his face where dried blood is caked on him managing to wipe Daryl's face without him wincing more than a couple times. Once he's clean, Rick can make out surface scratches across his cheek and a deeper cut along the corner of his eyebrow closest to the side of his head. He begins working the coat off Daryl seeking to tend to his bloody hands next. 

Once he's left in his t-shirt, Rick makes out the scratches on Daryl's neck. Merle must have been on-top of him at one point when he lost control and pulled at Daryl to get him back down. 

Daryl nods at Rick when he sees the ultimate question remain that Rick wants to take off his shirt. Rick helps Daryl bring the fabric over his arms and cautiously over his head so the shirt won't scrape against his wounds. Once the shirt is discarded with hardly any blood on it, Rick finds that he's relieved to find there aren't any wounds other than the ones left on his hands. 

He tries to clean Daryl's hands with the towel but Daryl, partially annoyed with his tenderness, pushes past him and holds them under the running faucet before grabbing a bar of soap and lathering some suds. It must hurt –the way he folds his hands within themselves to scrub them clean. But once he's done all that remains is the bruise over his knuckles on his right hand from when he struck Merle back. 

And that's when Daryl sees it, in the the reflection, Rick looking at his back. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, both sets of blue eyes are looking right at the other. It's all they can do in this moment, and somehow it seems to be the right thing. Rick is careful to be void of any sort of reaction to the criss-crossing scars displayed across his back, and Daryl is cautious to control himself and let Rick take him in. 

He turns around and they both are facing each other, pressed tight together due to the limited space. Their breaths are ghosting off each others face and Daryl leans in so his bare chest is less than an inch from Rick. Daryl tilts his head and leans in to kiss Rick on the lips. It's gentle at first, the way lovers would greet each other after a day away. Rick is cautious of Daryl's face that they'd just managed to patch up. He doesn't want to hurt it anymore, and something tells him Daryl is careful for the same reason. But despite this, there is still the same sensual tension building up from just the slightest touch of the other person. 

Rick can feel the blood rush in his veins, generally headed towards one area. And when he hardens, Daryl reacts to it and presses his hips inwards, moaning softly out his bruised lips. Rick begins sinking his teeth into the skin around Daryl's neck. He listens to the gasps escape the mans lips, over and over, and the way he's rocking into Rick, his own boner crying out for release. 

Rick pulls himself back and removes his shirt, catching Daryl in the eyes –checking to make sure that this is okay, before placing his teeth around Daryl's chest. He bites a bit harshly on his toned chest, but Daryl moans out loud while trying grabbing a fistful of Rick's curly hair. 

Before long, they make their way to the top floor of the house and into Rick's bed. Rick's clothes have been removed during the journey upstairs, and he gasps when tense fingers are run down his sides. He can't be sure if he's shaking from the cold, or something else, but the way Daryl lay under him now is captivating in every way. His face is still slightly swollen from where Merle had hit him, but Rick sees right past the bruises forming on his face. He can only look into those blue eyes. Daryl removes the rest of his clothes while Rick removes lube from his drawer and applies it down his own length. 

Rick positions himself above Daryl, never once daring to look away as he slides into the man. “You sure about this?” He whispers as the air from his breath drifts across Daryl's face.

“Jus' get it over with already,” Daryl growls while pressing his pelvis into Rick causing Rick to smirk. His grin is stolen into an expression that becomes focused when he begins to enter the younger man. 

Daryl's face becomes pained from the entry, and Rick leans forward, connecting his forehead to Daryl's in an effort to comfort him while he forces himself the rest of the way in. Once he's inside, Daryl releases the grip on Rick's biceps where his nails had unintentionally dug into the skin. They both are taking deep breaths, exhaling breath on the other. 

There's a layer of sweat glistening across Daryl's brow and he suddenly tenses as Rick adjusts. Rick is slow with the beginning, trying to ease the process and make it comfortable. Eventually Daryl nods at him. Rick is over-come by pleasure when he begins the faster pace of entering the man. Rick's tone is low and rough as he grunts in between kissing Daryl on the top of the head and finding his lips while trying to bury himself into the man. The sound they make hits Rick's ears like a symphony of endless notes, telling him the other man is feeling the same pleasure as he. 

He grabs onto Daryl's hardness and pumps him in rhythm, He is entering the verge of climaxing when Daryl beats him to it and spills in his hand, crying out as he does so. Just that sight and sound –the quivering of Daryl's stomach as it reacts to Rick's hand pumping him harder, and the roughness of his voice distorted momentarily, is enough to send Rick crashing with his own waves of pleasure as he spills into the man. He keeps thrusting his hips, trying to give every last ounce of pleasure to Daryl before he becomes too sensitive. 

He assumes they had only lay there for many minutes before they both fell asleep. He didn't even bother reaching out to set the alarm or check his phone for reminders the next day. He let his mind, and heart, drift into something peaceful as the sound of Daryl's breaths pulled him away from reality and into a deep sleep. Whatever today brought them, they'd find a way to work with it tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was late again for this chapter. And with the way things have been going, I would say the next chapter (and final chapter) will be posted within the next two weeks as well. Thank you again for all of your guy's incredible support on this project of mine. I usually am not a chapter person, but this has been something I'm glad I did.


	11. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I greatly apologize for the gap between this final chapter and the last one. I really wanted to be consistent so it was easier to remember the story line with each update... but I won't dull you guys with why that plan didn't work out. 
> 
> This is it. The final chapter to this ever-so challenging story I thought of back in October. I am incredibly thankful for all the support everyone of you has given --via kudos, comments or even just taking the time to read this. Seriously, you guys made this worth every hour. 
> 
> I can't say if I will be writing any time soon. I have ideas come and go, but I will probably stick to one-shots from now on. 
> 
> Thank you again everyone.

Few weeks had passed before where Rick could remember feeling so comfortable with life. He'd entered a new domain as far as relationships went and already had an incredible time adjusting to the idea of being with another man rather than a woman. The process between him and Daryl was going to be slow. The steps taken towards intimacy were in several ways rushed, and they both knew that at the time. But it was okay, and it hadn't changed things. The world began to feel soft around the edges where the honey-glow of a sunrise glinted across his eyelashes, and he would turn to the light to feel the moments of warmth. The long highway drive to the College felt like a trail on a map –leading to the treasure of his heart upon the map where he would see Daryl at the end. 

When Daryl came to Rick that night and pounded on his door, Rick was elated that Daryl had come to him and shown him the wounds all in the same night. He'd never imagined himself to be vulnerable with insecurities that someone else could only relinquish, but when it happened it was with none other than his student, Daryl Dixon. To kiss Daryl on the lips where his stubble always pressed against his own chin, was to say the least, intoxicating. He'd feel his heart hammer in his chest as if banging on the cage of his ribs enough to break free and take flight. Each time he found a moment to kiss Daryl, he'd do so passionately and with force and vigor. The rough patches of an un-shaven face would scrape against the others. That uncomfortable sensation was one of the most intoxicating, Rick had come to find. 

Things between them was something like a bliss, a dangerous drug inhaled through the sinuses and flooding the bloodstream with a rush. The downfall was the worst, but at the least, Daryl had Rick to cling to when things started to disorganize in front of him. 

Daryl's life was in many ways falling apart in his hands. His father and brother saw him a traitor to the family for his betrayal of taking over the business and switching college degrees after his father had invested so much money and hope into him. And though he wouldn't admit to it, Merle already had the hair-raising inclination that Daryl's interests lie within his English professor. The encounter with his family members resulted in a black-eye and a split lip. It was nothing compared to the abuse he'd dealt with through life, but it was enough to break him free from the endless abuse his father made him endure. 

It was less than a week later that Daryl received the letter that he would owe next quarters tuition within a week if he wanted to keep his classes. He of course expected this, and had already been looking for a job. The selection in the town near-bye was relatively limited with his lack of experience. His options were looking close to working at the bar, or in the auto-shop that had the sign asking for help. When he'd met with the shop manager it seemed promising that he really did want to hire on Daryl an assistant to drive to the warehouse for more parts, mainly. It was a job that consisted mostly of driving to another city in the company vehicle, but Daryl was willing to take anything. Though even if he did find a job, he knew it wouldn't be in time to pay the fee for school. 

He dropped out of school a week after the incident with his father. He hadn't any idea where he would go in the mean-time, as his dorm was his home, and his old home was looking far more ominous than when he had left it last. 

But this doesn't deter him now as he packs boxes of his stuff from the places things had been carelessly thrown around in the dorm, and into boxes. Glenn was more than willing to help him pack despite the regret he felt knowing Daryl was dropping out of school for lack of money. He'd offered his car at the last effort to try and help since Daryl preferred to pack up on his own. And since Glenn didn't want to be left with another random roommate, he decided to pack up his own things as well while he and Maggie looked at apartments in the area. 

The whole room began to look like the skeletal remains of something quite uncomfortable and unfamiliar by the time Daryl had stripped the posters off the wall. His back was to the open door, propped wide by a short stack of books so he could run boxes out to the car. To where he would drive the car and drop off his treasured by few belongings, he hadn't quite figured out. But he had enough in his savings for a weeks stay at the motel. Hopefully by then he'd hear back about the seemingly-promising warehouse job. 

There's a knock at the doorway which startles Daryl to the slightest, causing him to nearly drop the mound of pins in clutched inside his hand. He feels the points prick into his skin as he clutches them securely, regretting it as he does so. 

“Hey, hope you don't mind that I stop by,” Rick says as he walks inside. He has an envelope in his hand but doesn't address it right away as his blue eyes find Daryl's. 

“Nah, s'alrigh. 'Bout done here though. Won't be long that you can still stop by.” 

Rick nods, his lips thinning as he takes a look around the place. “So I guess this means you have it figured out where you're headed to?”

Daryl looks away from Rick and shrugs. He sets the pins on the desk –some try desperately to stick to his clammy palm, rolling one under the tip of his fingers as he feels the edge press into his fingertip. “Got 'bout a week planned at the motel in town. Hopin' I get that job by then. But there's a shelter not far from there if I need ta' stay for a few days.” 

Rick smirks and dares a cautious step closer. He already knows Daryl isn't one to ask for help if he thinks he can do it himself. And he understands his determination to try and succeed on his own. But it wouldn't hurt to at least offer. “You know you can stay with me until you find your feet. I got the space, you already know that.”

Daryl dares to meet his eyes, uncomfortably shifting on his feet when he does. “Ya' know I can' accept that.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Jus' been dependin' on people fer too long. Won't do me much good if I don' do shit fer myself.”

“Yeah, but you know you're welcome anyways. And something tells me that if it weren't for all this, you'd be staying with me a lot at night anyways.”

Daryl bites at his tongue, glancing from Rick to the pins, back and forth again several times while he weighs Rick's offer. 

“Well, you can think about it you know?” 

Daryl nods. “Alrigh'. I'll think about it.”

Rick grins, his white teeth showing behind his smile. His smile fades when Daryl looks away from him once more. There's still a slight bruise under his eye, and Rick reaches out to stroke it gently under his thumb. He lets his hand trail to the side of Daryl's head and holds it there while pulling him to meet his eyes. 

“How are you feeling, now? About all of this?” 

Daryl shrugs. “Dunno. Either it hasn't got ta' me, or I'm actually fine with it. Feels good ta' not be goin' on my fathers terms anymore. Figure I can start goin' again once I get on my feet. This time fer' somethin' I want.” 

Rick nods. “Yeah.” He leans forward and kisses Daryl on the lips. It's a brief kiss, one that speaks of their intimacy while not daring to let someone else witness their secret. 

Rick pulls away, taking a cautious glance at the doorway as he does so. He sighs when he catches Daryl's weary eyes –tired of packing, tired of this situation... tired of hiding _this_ between them. Rick sighs, resisting the urge to place Daryl's chin in his hand. “I brought something for you. I was in my office when I remembered coming across these a while back.” He hands Daryl the envelope which was thick of papers folded into thirds. 

“What is it?” Daryl removes the papers and unfolds them. 

“Scholarships for the Writing Program. Most of them you'll need a Letter of Recommendation based off your writing skills as observed by a teacher. And Daryl, I hope this ain't biased, but you had me sold a long time ago.” 

Daryl glances over the pages. He sighs and folds them. “Thanks. It means a lot... jus' ain' the right time fer me righ' now. I need ta take a step back from all this fer a minute. Get my head together and my feet on some sturdy ground.” 

Rick traces a hand across his face and places it on his hip. The other man was in many ways frustrating –stubborn, mostly. But he understood the reasons Daryl needed to do this on his own. It was one of the many things he admired about the other man. He kisses Daryl on the lips briefly. 

“Don't lose yourself in the process. Promise me that, okay?” His blue eyes pierce Daryl's ducked head, waiting for any sort of acknowledgment that he heard his plea. 

Daryl nods. “Thanks, for everything. You have a way of comin' in an stirrin' things up fer the better.” 

He grins, finally meeting those eyes that he had been searching for when Daryl looks up at him.

**Author's Note:**

> _"It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all."_
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